This blanket, richly colored the red of pomegranates, curls around me. It is so soft, and I am soft. Imperfect blanket, imperfect me. We both have frayed and tattered edges. We offer comfort; we are happy being touched, held, wrapped up wrapped around. The cats lay on us, kneed our softness, curl up and nap. There is a hole in its center, like the hole in my heart.
We give little bits of ourselves to those we love, little pomegranate fuzzies clinging gently.
