Investigating My Space

My blue bedspread is one kind of cotton,

the sheet another. The smooth sheet

slides over my skin in this hot weather,

or rests cool upon it when I lie flat.

The bedspread is thick and almost rough,

almost a little furry – though it's not, 

but it has texture. It has little white flowers

with stylised stems and leaves, in rows.

It came from India. My cat's white whiskers 

shine against black fur. She rests her chin
on the Indian cotton throw, stays all night.

Written for Writing Ourselves Alive, week 1: Curiosity