Pin It

Blankie 

She trailed
the ragged thing
well past
the age of eight,
remains of what
had been
light comfort
for her crib.
Last seen,
leaking shreds,
it remained
somehow inviolate
until the day
she let it lay
untouched.
Then it was boxed
and put away.
She never said
a word.
We do not know
how it lost
its magic
but feel guilty
nonetheless.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Cliff Henderson.

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

Hudson Valley Events

submit event
Interview with Author & Poet  Karen Corinne Herceg @ WTBQ

Interview with Author & Poet Karen Corinne Herceg

Wed., March 22, 11 a.m.-12 p.m. — Host Joe Dans interviews poet and author Karen Corinne Herceg about her...
Writers in the House: A Conversation with 2017 Edith Wharton Writers-in-Residence @ The Mount

Writers in the House: A Conversation with 2017 Edith Wharton Writers-in-Residence

Wed., March 22, 3-5 p.m. — The 2017 Edith Wharton Writers-in-Residence – Christene Barberich, global editor in chief...

View all of today's events

Latest in Poetry

More by Cliff Henderson

Hudson Valley Tweets