Quilted

A poem of an everyday item

He left you on the floor, too excited for the day he hadn’t realized your grip had slipped and you’d fallen.

I’d scream without you lost in the pain only you can prevent aside from those simple stand-ins that still bring out a yelp from time to time, unable to fully shield from the burning truth.

Sometimes you are overkill, making it impossible to wrap my hands around my morning routines — that time the bowl slipped because you’d dulled my senses was still preferable to raw fingers.

I pick you up, dust off, return you to your hanging mate. To be forgotten until tonight, where you will continue as my cotton armor.

For other great reads about everyday things, check out I Couldn’t Get Through Menstrual Hell without Canada Dry by Ajah Hales and A Traveling Tea Emporium by KSHernandez.

I wrote this from this lovely prompt from Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) in https://medium.com/the-brain-is-a-noodle.