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Author: Emerging Soul
ASL Info:    48/VERY female/Wisconsin
Elite Ratio:    4.36 - 1240 /1114 /244
Words: 417
Class/Type: Poetry /Nostalgia
Total Views: 1191
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 2707



When I was very young
About five or six years old
My mother bought a remnant of cloth
From a local mill
A six-by-six piece of material
With unfinished edges and out-of-square
In some unbelievably soft synthetic fabric
Colored black and white
In an unidentifiable pattern
I think she paid a dollar
At the time
She bought it to sit on
While she watched us at the pool
The benches too uncomfortable
She could sit on the grass
And read her book
And smoke her cigarette
There is a hole in the blanket from one...
Perhaps the one that contributed
To her death...I don't know...
But it melted a small hole
The size of a fingertip
Where the ashes had burned
I claimed the blanket as my own
When I was about ten or eleven
We were old enough then
To go to the pool alone
And the blanket had been designated
To be sent to charity
As all of our old clothes and toys
Often were
But I snagged the blanket from the pile
And placed it on my bed
To comfort me at night
The black blanket hid many things
From prying eyes
Candle-wax peeled off its fur
And blood washed clean with no stains
It hid nakedness and teenage sex
And once contained the evidence
Of teenaged drinking uncontrolled
When I married the blanket moved with me
And I often used it to snuggle
In a chair
Or to throw around my nakedness
When I awoke
When my daughter was born
We often lay side by side
On the kitchen floor
As I played with her to keep her quiet
While he slept in the next room
It traveled in her buggy
When I took her for walks
The German winters did not have much snow
But they were cold
The blanket traveled home with us
On the airplane
And stayed in her crib
Then adorned the foot of her bed
As she grew
She allowed me to use it
When her brother was small
He would lie on the living room floor
And learned to crawl
By grasping the soft material
In his hands
As soon as he could walk
She claimed it back, however
Stating that nothing else had ever match
Its softness or cuddling warmth
It rests now upon her couch
The favored throw for naps
Or late night TV watching
It remains unchanged
Through countless washings and
Two lifetimes of secrets
It holds, silent and softly
Remnants of Life

Submitted on 2004-09-28 12:35:23     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Aw, this is sweet. I used to have this blue blanket when I was little that I carried everywhere like Linus. It finally disintegrated. My mom always burns holes in blankets smoking too, but it kind of hurt to read the part about the death (because my mom has been very ill for two years now). I'm sure that when she's gone, I'll likely find an old throw that no one wants because of a hole and keep it. This was very touching.
| Posted on 2004-09-28 00:00:00 | by cuddledumplin | [ Reply to This ]
  I've got a blanket like that, except it's wool, itches and will last forever. I don't think I can pass it on though, none of the family will tolerate the itch, but the sentimentality remains, it's folded over the couch in my study.
| Posted on 2004-09-28 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]
  (Daniel, it was the cig that burned the hole that contributed to her death.)

i have no negative feedback. no constructive criticism. i love this piece. it brought tears to my eyes. not an easy feat. the generation span is beautiful. a sexy mom at the poolside, "nakedness and teenage sex," babies learning to crawl ... comfort in leaving home, all of it ... remnants is a perfect title. this is going on the favorites list. :)
| Posted on 2004-09-28 00:00:00 | by perfect_apology | [ Reply to This ]
  I found this fascinating. You weaved in details from 3 lives and spoke in such an easy flowing/natural way that in no time at all I was done but wanted to keep reading. short story/ poetry? Well poetry is what the author says it is and is always for me. My only nits are 1. how might the blanket have contributed to the narrators moms death? 2. maybe you could cull out a few of the 'blanket' references in this piece and replace them with a simple 'it' etc. My fav part was when you refered to the husband/partner as 'he'...I like little hints like that that tell of a relationship....most excellent piece
| Posted on 2004-09-28 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]
  hmm, I found it was too direct. Lines like: At the time
She bought it to sit on
While she watched us at the pool

It just doesn't seem like poetry, its just a story about an old blanket, not really much indepth stuff, not that the reader is interesting enough to divulge into anyway. The language is just too bland. It needs something that'll grab the eyes and attention of the reader, and make them want to jump into it. but for now, even though I read it a couple times, I had to force my way through, at the moment-what can be changed-it's just too bland.
| Posted on 2004-09-28 00:00:00 | by Anarius | [ Reply to This ]

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