Bridget’s Blanket

Despair – a shrinking, graying blanket with
a tear – I snuck away to school and there
it lay confined among sheets as I writhed
under a man – not fearing the affair
but disappointment from my blanket. Noth-
ing has changed – well, we’ve added bear. But still
I hug it when I swear I’ve seen a puff
of alien breath; afternoon naps chilled
by dreams of haunted homes and Dali skies.
It knows I still pretend I’m someone bet-
ter looking; loved by all the world. I cry
to it: Who’ll want to share our truth? Who’ll get
our make-believe? And will he sleep with me
in Paris, windows open, blanket free?

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