Blankets

By Claire Allison, OMS II
Cleveland

I feel their warmth, their softness.
A gentleness that preserves my blissful state.
I want to say here
in a state of slumber
unable to conceive the suffering around me.
 
They begin to flutter
The tranquility of darkness leaves
where the brilliancy of reality takes its place.
 
The warmth becomes a fire, the softness a jab.
My body feels like it is burning.
I can lay here no longer.
 
I get up and bare the own weight of my body.
The first few steps
a stagger.
Perhaps it is myself adjusting to the guilt that I carry.
 
Why do I feel like this?
Shouldn’t I feel like this?
Perhaps it is the small price I must pay.
 
A genuine smile worn each day.
I feel true happiness
and because of that
I feel guilt.
 
Why do I do it?
Shouldn’t I do it?
Minutes turn into hours
which turn into days.
The screen and books,
soon to become a beating heart.
 
This journey is joyous
and equally painful.
A paradox, really.
 
It is suffering that disturbs my head from the pillow,
yet I have chosen to read it, see it, and hear it
for the rest of my days.
 
Perhaps they didn’t.
There is privilege in sacrifice.
It’s not heroic.
It’s requisite.
 
Because every person should feel the joy that I do
Because every person should wake up under blankets.