I held your hand under the covers
as the world shattered
around us.
Things thrown and voices raised,
I tried to create an oasis
a sea of calm under the blankets.
Heads buried and favourite songs sung,
safe from the tide of emotions slapping
against our young bodies,
emotions not for us but directionless in their
anger.
Always holding onto these moments
selfishly hoping for them, willing to bear the
storm for this rare,
momentary lapse.
Holding to the few precious moments
you have ever needed
me.
Claiming my status as older.
I wish we were holding hands under the covers.
Michaela Sheehan
2021
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