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“BLANKET On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving I’ve crawled into its darkness Night after night Dove into the wreckage With my lantern Hoping for some light At the end of this silent tunnel I’ve spooned with the grief Sifted through the ashes of our love Been reduced to the seasons Where people watch our bones As they lie down exposed Through our transparent cover Still warm among the cold winds But heavy with self-deception On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving” — Trisha North