I                                                                                                   

Tarnished, frayed,                                                          

onslaughts of affection,                                           

delivered by one small life                           

II                                                                                                   

Dragged across the hardwood,  

picking up grime.                                                                 

Who could blame the owner?                                        

She’s only three feet tall.                                                     

III                                                                                               

You again?                                                                      

The drier tosses relentlessly,

determined to stop the wailing outside.                                                                                                                                 

IV                                                                                         

Comforting material                                                     

brushes against the child’s sticky face,                               

picking up a taste of jam.                                                  

V                                                                                                  

Stitched with the thread of love,                                           

the needle of motherly affection,                            

a promise of protection born.                                            ……

VI                                                                                                 

Tied around her neck,                                     

rippling in the breeze;                                                  

Mocking a cape,                                                 

the city is saved,

a small hero triumphant                                                              

VII                                                                                                 

Pulled around trembling shoulders,                          

a mighty shield,                                             

protecting from furious skies                                            

and roars from above.

VIII

It’s lonely at grandma’s house,

Being forgotten

on the cold leather couch--

Soon, they’ll realize something missing

IX

In the slobbering maw of the beast,

It looks bleak for the blanket

As the monster thrashes its head, 

Teeth piercing polyester

X

Tucked under a small chin,

Hands curl into the fabric. 

A makeshift sedative,

taming a wild adventurer

XI

Peonies are lovely,

but the outdoor experience

could be achieved without the mud

splattered, soaked into the fabric.

XII

Time rolls by, tangled in heartstrings,

but like the blanket,

connections unravel

XIII

Tucked away securely,

the blanket is no longer needed.

Yet, the toddler-now-grown

won’t call it scrap.