Waterlogged

The pipe broke. A cold flood.

I reached in, for the blanket, sodden.

It fought, a muddy hood,

dragging, heavy, trodden.

No longer soft, or light.

Just an impossible, dead weight.

Pulled from the tub, with all my might,

it bruised my arms, sealed my fate

for the afternoon. Fibers matted,

dark with water, leaking down.

It hung, defeated, unfatted,

a miserable, dripping gown.

I couldn't lift it high.

It hung there, just a thing.

Too much water, under sky.

Couldn't make it sing.