A young woman is reminded by the blanket of her time spent in a mental hospital as a teen
|Lengthy fourth-of-July picnics,
Known by the illuminate fireworks and dazzling sparklers,
Spent running about the lakeshore with the other children.
Frigid, snowy, winter evenings,
Where temperatures dip below freezing point,
Spent huddled up on the upholstery with the family.
What does your childhood blanket remind you off?
Probably a slew of merrier times,
Perhaps the house you grew up in, the neighbors next door.
Probably not days upon years of unending desperation.
My childhood blanket conjures memories of just that,
The hospital I hated, the roommates I loathed.
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact
That it isn’t a blanket as much as it is a throw.
All it takes is a glance at the pattern of sapphire blue,
And I am brought back to room 307, Pelican unit, bed 2.
I remember ever so sharply, of the low wooden bed frames,
The blue Medline mattresses, and thin fireproof sheets too.
But most vividly I remember tucking in the edges
Of my beloved childhood throw,
Every early morning while Mr. Christian bellowed, let’s go”.
As I clutch onto this blanket in the middle of the night,
Not only can I can feel the snuggly warmth
Of the fleece on the calluses of my 21-year-old palms,
But I can also feel the drastic drop in temperature,
That occurred like clockwork every night,
Causing frigid hospital temperatures,
To bite on my bare fifteen-year-old skin.
And if I was to lift this sentimental throw to my nose,
And breathe-in the scents embedded in its core,
I bet you I would be able to pick up
The aroma of sweet chili Dorito chips,
And I bet you I would inhale
The remnants of salty teardrops,
From all the nights that I had spent weeping past bedtime.