Heated towels.

I need a heated towel.
Not a radiator.
Not a heated towel rail.
Not even a tumble dryer
or a steaming iron.
I need a heated towel.
I need to wrap myself
in warmth to thaw this
chill.
I need a body towel.
Heated.
Not warm or tepid.
Heated.
To ease the cold spasms
of my aching body.
It needs a hood with satin
pull cords to ensure
the heat stays in.
I’ll need a catheter.
Once hot I refuse to remove
not even to wee.
One day the cold damp
of Britain will kill me.
I need to move.

Karen Hayward ©2016

A cocoon of safety.

I need a pillow in which to rest my tired mind.
A safe haven to close my heavy eyes
soft enough to catch my gentle thoughts.
I need a cover in which I can be caught.
Large enough to envelope my soul.
Soft enough to caress my waning spirit.
I need a place where I can rest,
to pause and reflect.
A place where I can sleep
and cry tears never wept.
I need a pillow to place my tired head.

Karen Hayward ©2016

As the night closes.

When all is done and night draws in.

When silence falls and stars shine bright.

When worries done,

when I’ve had my fun.

When lights fall low and covers high

when sleep pulls me into the night.

I think of you.

I think of friendship I think of more,

I think of touch and inner warmth.

I think of silence that says more than words,

calming voices, soft eyes and tender touch.

When the night draws to a close,

I think of you, holding me close.