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


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