A poem for wonder-filled little Larn.

I keep a fuzzy blanket on my bed
so I can run my fingers back and forth
on the fibers—
one side smooth, the other rough.
I’ve done this since I was young.
My hands moved across my velvet Christmas dress
and treasured teddy bears.

I see glimpses of my little self
when snow shines in streetlights
and lights blur through car windows.
I see her in ice-crusted playground slides
and visible breaths toward the sky.

Sometimes I forget she’s there,
but when I catch her, I keep her close.
I cuddle my teddies
and hold a soft blankie
and I peek out the blinds
to search for flurries in the streetlights.

By laurenstockam

Lauren is a graduate student at Missouri State University in Springfield, MO.

3 replies on “winter”

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