A tiny fist clings
Wrinkling the chest of my blouse
Fingers fat with milk and love and bananas
Draw lines in linen and decorate me as mother
Wet spots polka dot my clothing,
Residue of tears and drooling and more milk.

This uniform is at once costume, straightjacket, cape and mask, nakedness.

She has my eyes, but hers are green.
She has his smile, but he doesn't smile as much anymore.

She carries our confusion like a torch, leading an angry parade,
we carry her little body like a sacrificial lamb up the stairs.