Day 27: Blanket

Last Saturday, I stood in that entryway -

you and I use to wait for cars to carry us away.  

Before drivers licenses, our parents acting 

as unwilling chauffeurs - the backseat 

a curtainless confessional holding

whispered secrets.  

I think I like him more than he likes me.  

I think he likes me more than I like him. 

I’m afraid to be alone.  

I’m afraid to die.  

You guided me back to the warm sunlight -

the world very much alive, even when 

I closed my eyes.

Last Saturday, I found us in your first car – 

the great white Oldsmobile, a whale of a car! 

We spent summers between pools, autumn 

weekends at Waffle House - questions 

hung in the air. 

Should I admit that my promise is counterfeit?  

Am I careless and childish? Is that all 

I can hope to be?

You showed me back to the warm sunlight -

the world very much alive, even when 

I closed my eyes.

Last Saturday, I wanted to say thank you but 

was uncertain…  I can start by saying your voice is

the first I’ve known to be on the phone, calming

my conscious and constantly

reassuring me.  

Remember the days that we remember?

We don't just speak because someone 

else is listening. 

These days I hear the cynic 

I've become, notice the hard lines 

carved in my face.

The sunshine's so cliche!  So is love. 
So is pain. I've looked at those inkblot 
tests; there's just nothing there 
to see.

You have shown and saved this life 

for me, sewn it into beauty – a handmade quilt 

panels of echoed laughter, 

love, and pain.  

Echoes give life! As they are rooted 

in but not fixed by the past, returning 

to their speaker the same 

but different -

in warm sunlight 

with the world very much alive, 

even when we close our eyes.

Day 19: Dobject's Blanket

blanketbedlinencomforterquiltsheetspreadTE

thermalcovereiderdownlinenencloakclothedRD

overspreadcottonstuffingpressuresurroundIG

kingsqueensdoublesfullstwinsinglesblankyME

securitycontainmentwrapeundercovermaskedBR

hideyholeconcealenvelopburysurroundinginOI

heatmoisturecontainmentsmothersnugglesweRP

theyhitthesheetsconsumedcurtainedconcealDS

sheerbloomsurroundallembracingcrownedoutEL

swaddlebibcurdlecradlewipedressundressesRI

encirclewoolyfleecewarmthtearstitchdarnsRP

regeneratekinleatherfleshtendonsknittingIE

rodsstabpealrtwistfibercrossknotholepokeMD

heavydarkbreathmoisturedesnsedimmarblefilm

flipturnwashtossstretchpurgesoapfrothsteam

pressdryairburnrazehangsunsilkscentcoolred

rollburritoflopfortinventshangplayfoldtuck

comforterrugthrowmatlayersheathfilmstuffed

Day 18: Pobject's Blanket

as the phone call
that melts
the marshmallows
in your cocoa

in the summer
and hot
sweat wetting the edge
across your chest

in your closet under a Safari-print sky,
a bungalow with a larder
full of comic books
and Cheetos

when you cry
for love that's broken
or love that never even
was

Day 6: Lobject’s Blanket

Little Hands

It was hard to understand

my mother-in-law adored

the most pitiful piece of blue

glazed clay. Clay like this

gets trashed, not loved on

a nightstand for decades.

Clay like this is cuddled

by a blanket in a bottom

drawer. A baby blanket able

to protect something small

because of what women

weave into it—hot cocoa,

kisses for cuts and scrapes,

prayers for a long childhood.

I see in my son’s blanket

magic in his hands. I see little

hands make clay most valuable.