Ode to ‘ganket’

Ode to “ganket”

You’ve been crushed
beneath small heels
covered in mud;
strangled, your floppy neck
unable to breath;
deserted in a Target aisle
unknowing of where you were; smeared
with jellied snot and ketchup, yet here
you are Magic Blanket,
your sour milk breath
sighs comforting silence.
Your princess skin
of cotton candy, wadded up,
dries alligator tears
and salves playground wounds.
Does she speak to you,
Magic Blanket?
Perhaps she tells you,
in half-formed words,
about her silver balloon
floating into the clouds
I wasn’t tall enough
to save. Or the boy
by the tire swing
who cracked a mini fist
against her head,
the rainbow wound
matches you. I know
she speaks to you,
Magic Blanket.
When your frayed forehead,
bowed, touches hers,
sitting cross-legged
on the Lego-strewn floor.
You, Magic Blanket,
are a better mother than I.



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