Poem a day, 11: September 11th 2010

My grandmother had a stuffed bear, and when my mother was born, she passed the bear on. When my sister was born, my mother passed the bear on again, and by this stage it was a bit knackered: one eye missing, patchy fur, and all the stuffing down in one leg like a blackjack club. Emily loved it. One day, my mother decided to restore the bear. It got a new eye, new fur, and had the stuffing drained from the leg and redistributed around its body. Emily was very upset, and I was able to sympathise. You get used to the way a companion feels in your hand, like a cigarette, or a breast.