Slaying me with trust, his brown eyes meet mine as he asks the question I’ve dreaded. “Night-Night?”
Velvety soft companion since birth,
and most prized possession,
his brown blanket Night-Night lays,
clean but wet in the bottom
of the washer.
Tired and missing his mother, I hear
the rhythm of some celestial clock
ticking off the seconds to his detonation.
When I toss it in the dryer, he senses
my panic, and the sniffling begins.
Planted in front of the dryer,
his grief swells to a storm of tears
cascading down his shirt
as he pushes away my hugs.
Praying for inspiration, I grab
his stuffed dinosaur and kangaroo.
When he turns, we are sitting
just behind him, ‘Saur, ‘Roo and me,
staring in solidarity at the dryer,
like mourners sitting shiva,
as he melts into my arms.
Sharyl Collin started writing poetry about four years ago. Her poems have appeared in various publications, including Mason’s Road Literary Journal, Wild Goose Poetry Review, *82 Review, The Intentional and Lummox.