Five siblings inherit a blanket. They lie beneath it, together, to stay warm.
          But arms and legs stick out and the siblings squabble and tug. They do
          not realize that they would all fit if they just moved closer together.

This is the Blanket Story. Poets, artists, and musicians have responded to this tale in creative ways. All poems appear here, our ONLINE POETRY SHOWCASE. Visit our main page to find out more about the project.

Susan Laughter Meyers

Blankets, a Childhood

The deep-olive wool one
we called the Army blanket
because it was. I loved its heft, 
its official smell. Not mine,
it knew cots & hard ground.
What it knew best: the mystery
of my brother & his crew cut, 
absent boy who said so little. 

The tan one with two stripes
at the top, coral & turquoise,
we called the Indian blanket.
Dream catcher, exotic & pilled.
Always doubled, folded in half
longways, saying itself twice.
Rolled up, a sister’s pillow 
when the day went wrong.

My favorite had no name. Faded
red-and-black-checkered cotton
smelling of lotion & salt air.
Sunbather, limp & napless—
the one whose bed was sand.
The sea’s dull handkerchief
we gripped the corners of at dusk
& shook, hard, in the devil wind.