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Adventures from under the fleece blanket: part eighty-two

By: Rachael Chong

About The Poem

Written in response to a friend who posted up an album of holiday adventure pictures (all experienced pre-pandemic) during lockdown and a period of deteriorating mental health.

The Poem

So there I was again
muffled in a thick void, surrounded
by the insulating fibres
of polyethylene terephthalate.
Light tried to filter through,
I could feel my skin fizz in some kind of desperate
vitamin d production attempt
and I instinctively recoiled.
As I curtained my face with more layers
I caught the unexpected
smell of tangerines in one of the
creases. A sharp, citrusy burst.
A reminder of the better days
when snacks tasted of sunshine,
had some form of nutritional content.
What was this life again?
And how to relinquish it?
I felt the true weight of the blanket
for the first time. I tried to push it away.
But as I thrust my arms forward
I caught a view of my sleeves,
saw they were covered in too many
pastry crumbs, ice cream stains
and that they smelt peculiar – something
a lot like shame.
So I retreated further
into the blanket’s sweaty, synthetic
folds, murmuring to myself
one day, one day
but not today.

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