a blanket of survival

          From each wisp a fragment spun
          and fragments to the thinnest thread
          wound round the fingers on one hand

          Then plied for strength, the entwining twist
          that turns to make a skein
          wound tightly between strong arms

          The loose ends straggling, on the floor
          a question mark of wondering
          pulled through the holes of half remembered things

          Each colour chosen carefully, clashes negotiated
          Pieces assembled, only making sense

          A blanket, formed of wayward fibres
          each hooked and held
          and gathered in.




I have had this blanket all of my life, it was made by Molly, a woman with Down's Syndrome.

I always had it on my bed and, when poorly as a child, I used to choose the square I liked the most. We used it as the centre piece for our last Survivors' Retreat - a reminder that although we may feel full of holes, each of us can find strength connected with each other.