Vanilla Fantasy

Vanilla ice cream dreaming
slick in my mouth,
stirs up memories of
a child and a mother’s caress
and I cannot dream
without a blanket.

Lately, dreamless slumbers
even under sheets
like the past,
vanilla lingers
inadequate, an unknown mother,
constantly waking me up
to cover myself
nights, more chilly
without any
vanilla swirls
to dream about leaving
me orphan, longing
for a familiar lullaby
to blanket fears,
searching for a mother’s
hand in an empty room,

published in UP Quill’s literary folio, “Sitting Amok” — 10th volume.

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