Mrs. Welsch’s Electric Blanket
For her, because otherwise she would be alone
The heavy pencil drew two furrows down her life
Three uneven parts of equally insignificant value
None caused the heavens to shake and flood the streets with shimmering pieces of a guarded existence
Pitied grains of wistful dreams
The trio was in quick succession, a parade of casual walking and talking
Pathetic wisdom in a hollow world as the snowball rolled into precarious limbo
A silent Blythe Welsch glided on the back of another’s soliloquy
Maybe she would not be alone if contented monotony had not been the striven need
Foolish tears nevermore fell
She crept down a neutral street, stepping once more towards death
In a blue bin lay a yellow blanket taken selfishly for her miserable cats
Elegant creatures with discerning minds forced it across a single bed with a lonely frame
A patchwork quilt with her childrens’ names gratefully shoved behind guilty doors
The blanket had prongs that struggled into smiles and caused a delicious warmth to spread
It reminded her of moments gone opaque in thought and seconds prayers could not conjure
A baffling reality far from the empty apartment with silent corners and silent screams
Those mustard fibers became her one and only, the lover to which whispered secrets would fall upon when the stars deigned to shine
Cloudy memories ripped away by a reluctantly cozy pretense of faithful company
This bond endured until a cup of tea was spilt and a fragrant drop kissed a copper wire
She should have unplugged the blanket
