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Dave Bonta
I have four blankets on my bed:
one is the color of a clear winter sky,
one is the color of the river,
one is the color of the Atlantic ocean
& one is the color of your eyes.
Lying under my four blue blankets
I am warm, too warm, I toss & turn —
not like an airplane in a winter sky,
not like a salmon swimming upstream,
not like a buoy riding out a storm
but like a piece of grit
in a drop of salt water
exiled from the blue of your eyes.
I wrap you up like a blanket and snuggle you so close I'm scared you'll suffocate.
sitting alone in my bed, the fan blowing against my skin,
i remember
the rush of your breath
the pitter-patter of your heart
the soft silk of our shared blanket
but now its thread traces the ground, muddy and frayed,
as i brush through the wind
into the freezing river.
Everything was bright.
It was for awhile.
I was happy.
I smiled like I meant it,
people noticed.
People were happy for me.
But something happened again.
I started to slip.
Something started pulling me down.
It would take me at night,
tell me I was safe in its arms.
I felt safe,
I let I take me in.
But the pain started,
I tried to break free from its grasp.
I held my head up high and tried to break free.
I wrapped myself in a blanket
Full of hateful words
And terrible thoughts
And called it 'home'
In this cold,
fresh dust seems heavy
on my blanket.