The cement mixer churns
a young couple are rebuilding the cottage
where the old lady used to live.
Visited her a cold day
and found her freezing on her ancient sofa,
gave her my duvet wrapped it around her and she was snug.
She wanted to return it next day
but I told her to keep it as long as she needed,
lied and said I had four more.
A few weeks later she died
and her family (didn’t know she had any) came
and my duvet disappeared,
mind they were not to now that it wasn’t hers.
Mother had given it to me last time I visited her
‘it can come in handy,’ she said.
Didn’t really want to, it took up too much space in the car.
Then, with the passing of time,
she also died and the duvet became an object of memory,
under its sheltering protection I was a child again telling mother
that I couldn’t sleep unless she sang me a lullaby.
Don’t really miss the duvet
because it’s nice to think that it gave comfort to an old lady
on her waning days.