A Well-Loved Blanket

Like everyone I know, we’re all coming apart

at the seams, like a worn-out but well-loved blanket, the fabric

fraying, unraveling, straining at the tightness of the hands

desperately clutching onto it for that sense of security, that

understanding of protection, that this cloth has unnatural

properties that can stay the darkness from piercing the skin

and violating all that is inside us


We’ve been through storms, haven’t we?

The ground shook, but we’ve managed to remain still standing

on the cracked pavements of a broken world; the air we breathe

is not ours, the air is punctuated with voices from all over the world,

the lightning strikes the earth, trees fall, mountains raped and rendered

hollow, and the rivers flow red but we are still here, searching the sky

for falling stars, anxious to make a wish


You don’t have to tell me

I can hear your heartbeat pulse from the old wood door

in your house when I come to visit

it’s the same beat I hear when the rain falls and each drop

lands at the hood of my neighbour’s car, it is the same beat that drums

in the footsteps that echo in train stations and airport terminals,

it’s the same beat that knocks on the chest of every living person:







Like we’ll ever squeeze the answer out of stone or dirt. Like we’ll ever

make a guess and find a sparkle in our eyes that quiets our heart.

Like we’ll ever figure it out because we’ll forget it again and when we’ve

taken that restful breath we all know we deserve.


We know we don’t deserve anything but what we give to ourselves

and the chill rushes down the spine and we grasp unto each other

burying our faces into each other’s skin and remember

what it feels like to be four-years-old again, when the world was so vast

and unknown and inviting. There lies dragons, out there, calling

us and we know we’ll go but we also cling to each other

our skin just so soft as to be familiar


We’d wrap ourselves into each other if we could


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