#1029923 added April 2, 2022 at 11:26am Restrictions: None
rituals of sleep
I build my bed carefully, needing
the touch of each
blanket as I snap them into place.
sheets to cool me, first—the yellow flowered
ones Mama bought for me when I first
left home for college.
the fuzzy red blanket next,
because it's soft even through the sheet,
and then the fleece I cut
and knotted a fringe for at the same time
I did for all my siblings
next the quilt Mama tied for me
when I was young and she quilted,
made of patchwork squares in mostly
blues, then the snuggie with pockets
Mama bought for me one Christmas
I sometimes wear when the cold is too deep
to live comfortably downstairs.
next, the afghan Mama knit for me
when I graduated, green with browns
showing through, and finally, the purple fuzzy
at the top, that I bought at a stop
when I was traveling home by train once
across the mountains and the blankets
were too thin for my blood.
every night, I lay them straight,
and then slip between the sheets, letting
the weight of love anchor me
while I drift and soar and dream.
April 2—Sleep—write a poem about sleep (or insomnia)
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