Thread Bear Poem by Sue Stone

Thread Bear


My once weekly dusting session
I reach to the top shelf
The one I have to stand
on my tippy toes to reach.
There you sit, surrounded
by other plusher models.

We observe the other; glass eyes,
a little dim with age
Your nose, vague strands of apricot mohair
Strangely befitting alopecia for this aged veteran
Of comforting companionship

You, middle aged when we were introduced,
and me aged three.
I think of the humiliation of your being ‘covered'
in BLACK VELVET, at the advanced age of forty two,
when you'd never harmed anyone!

My very own Nana, spurred on, I'm sure,
By very good intent,
re christened you, ‘Minnie the Mole'.
And there you stayed, for decades,
under the stairs with ‘Big Dolly'

Dismissed by absent minded children.
your colleagues less superior.
In quality, and experience
Of tucking under little arms, and far less plush,
and not able to absorb kisses and ice cream
half as well as your good self

Until the day of the stroke. Nan,
strangely silent
behind lopsided cheeks,
meaningful eyes and nods
at the so kind paramedic.
In a fluster of removal men
Boxes filled with a life
I find you sitting patiently

I find a bear hospital, not knowing
They existed
I find the so kind lady, who clucks
And unpicks, and cleans and stitches
And tells me of your beginnings
Glass eyes polished, twinkling
A secret smile,
Newly stitched, alongside paws
and tummy newly plumped.
Apricot alopecia no longer matters.

I stroke you and tickle your head
With feather duster
I settle you back amongst colleagues
Of distant childhood memory

‘Minnie the Mole'
You smell of my tears