Newborn babes swaddled against February cold,
my mother with end-of-life chill, carefully wrapped
in snowflake dotted red, like a holiday gift.
My cat on his cozy throw, dreaming
as a crunch of russet leaves
blankets the grass.
Under covers, entwined, we wait for spring.
A quadrille for dVerse, where I’m hosting tonight. The word is blanket.