The Blanket
At first, the
blanket was enough.
Bequeathed to
all five sons as one,
it was sewn from
bits of each boy’s clothes
and held the
history of their lives.
That first
night, they all piled in Grossmutter’s bed
and pulled the
new coverlet over their knees.
Propping on
pillows and leaning on Simon,
the littler ones
listened to him tell their stories,
each tale
reflected in swatches of fabric.
The squares in
the corners were Fabio’s t-shirt,
Sebastian’s
pajamas formed stripes down the long side,
the border
itself came from Oliver’s socks,
and Leo’s bright
flannels were appliquéd rainbows.
They cuddled
together beneath the warm colors,
a quintet of
boys falling tandem to sleep.
But, in the
night, the room grew cold
and one by one
the brothers woke
and yanked the
blanket back and forth
to claim its
favors for himself.
Each boy forgot
so soon
the warmth he
found enclosed
in his brothers’
open arms,
and the room
without
turned only
colder
and distant.
and distant.