Linsey-Woolsey
No one else sleeps
where I lay my head.
My empty bed.
My nest.
My safety zone of rest.
I’m such a child at times,
to be so grown
and sleeping alone
doesn’t seem to be
the thing that I see
in the future for a girl like me.
I am- -I seem to say
in my head of course as I lay
buried in the feather tick
with Gram’s linsey- woolsey
still so warm and thick
pressed against my cheek.
Sometime’s I think
I smell her hair and
while lying there
just for a moment --
a single moment
I do feel her with me.
Oh, I hope she can see
how much I miss her.
She was and she felt
the feelings that stir
and needle and pelt
the inner me as I melt
from the child who clings
to the old self while the new rises.
Inspired by the portrait--"sleeping child"
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2014
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