nursing

1804

baby, come here, stop fussing

i got all the milk you need

enough for them white ones too

don’t cry now, latch on

your mammy will be home

when the sun goes down

she’s going to sing you a song

while she rubs the day out of her feet

there now child, settle

we are all mothers here

take my milk before it sours

take it, sweet baby, take it

1984

the milk came from the hospital bank

a dozen little clear bags, jammed into a cooler

when it was time to feed me

mama attached a small tube

to the end of a baggy

then threaded the other end

under her shirt, around her

body, pale as moonstone

bringing it directly to her nipple

like fresh bait dancing on a hook

i could smell it (what was that?)

my infant mouth, opening and closing

spittle gathering at the corners

as she brought me into

the ocean of her chest, cooing

latch on, booba girl. latch on.

and i did, every time, a little brown bundle

suckling her only mama

i was so hungry

i couldn’t stop

what a sight we must have been

what a sweet, messy sight