I wasn't supposed to happen. As an infant, my mom and my birth father's family fought over me. They lived in Louisiana and my family lived in Oklahoma. None of this occurred to me on my blanket. Stretched out on it, I felt safe. I felt loved. I would stake my claim on the living room floor with it. I curled up on the couch with it. I played with my toys and my dog on it. Home to a ragtag herd, it was my fabric ark. I would run my fingers over their soft noses, now threadbare. Year by year, inch by inch my body would take up more of it. Pieces of it have been sacrificed to washing machines and moves across the country. I've always had it. Recently, I asked my mom where it came from. She said that my birth father's mother made it by hand, and had gifted it to me when we were on a trip back to Louisiana.

– K. Bayans

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