The Yellow Blanket

When she was

born

they swaddled

her in the

yellow blanket,

You know the kind-

waffle-weave

soft

like an ancient

T-shirt

washed over

and over.

 

As a child,

she rocked

in bed

to tire herself

out

with her little

yellow blanket

tucked between

her legs.

 

As the years

passed

it became tattered,

torn

piece by piece-

it came apart.

 

By the time she

was twelve

it was a bundle

of tied together

pieces, a

rag-

yet soft, warm,

soothing

as she continued

to rock herself

to sleep.

 

Soon her mother

explained, your

uncle

had the same

habit, the way

to quit is to

lie flat on your

back and rock

one leg instead

of your whole frame.

 

It did not take long

for the girl

to break herself

of the rocking habit

at which time

the yellow blanket,

bits

tied into a bundle

disappeared along

with the

girl's

childhood.

 

 

Reviews

[C.T. Bailey]

So delicate and tender. The passing of age and time, a blanket, a symbol of our life's fabric. What wonderful poetic expression. This is very endearing poetry...and now I think I will call my son. Thank you for this.
CT

[After the Blackbird Sin..]

The poem was really good; everything people look for in poems. Thanks for sharing it with us.

[Poeticpiers]

a delicately framed portrait of movement from baby towards puberty and beyond. There are many adults who still cherish battered threadworn teddtbears well into old age and why not.

[Emily B]

I dearly hate the end of the thumb-sucking stage. I know it has to go away.

Aw, this just really gets to me today. Like the Hallmark commercial when your hormones are out of sorts. :-)

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Oh the growing pains as they come. Nicely written.