I folded away my sorrows 

in that patchwork blanket

my mother made, now worn

and frayed, which you tell me 

has seen better days.

I folded away the creases

of left over swatches of cloth

used to make dresses when we were young. 

That pale pink one with the blue flowers? 

That used to be a favourite. 

I folded over the threads

coming apart, ‘good morning’

and a smiley face, embroidered 

by hands that once were quick

but now can barely rise. 

I folded away my sorrows 

in the embrace of the old blanket

falling apart but saved anyway

riddled with tears no darning

can fix. I folded. 

I folded away memories

some happy and some not so

winter nights, riding the clouds

dreams of past delights that, like me

have seen better days.