Tuesday, 26 February 2019

The Duvet...



Whilst asleep

She tries to pull the duvet closer


Trembling fingers


Slowly stiffening with the chill


As her mind starts compensating


Through a dreamscape


Flickering images of her life


Playing like a film


And in that film her mother's


Softly urging


"Baby, eat your greens or you'll never


Grow up strong"


And her father's putting logs upon the fire


Yet none of that heat


Is making her feel warm


And she twists and turns 'til she's lost


Inside the duvet


Like a child within the womb


Safe and swaddled in love


But still, the cold snaps at her


As the film runs


And her sleep slips deeper


As she searches for a touch of warmth


Then, upon her cheek


She feels her mother's kisses


A slight light brush of tender as she softly naps


Yet, even so, those kisses leave her shivering 


As each one pierces her flesh


With an icy stab


Then the film begins to break up


Snapshot moments


Flash

Across the screen of her mind's eye


Her father reading her a bedtime story

Her favourite childhood doll

Tucked by her side

Now a stinging wind starts blustering

Through the storyboard

Reaching out to whip the duvet where she lies

And waking up

She takes in her surroundings

Devastated by reality but not surprised

That the flashbacks were just fabricated memories

Apparitions to appease and ease the gloom

Of the sleet and snow that's slowly

Covering her duvet

On the street in the dank shop doorway

That is her bedroom.






Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

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