Warm, yellow, mote-ridden morning sunlight

and a rolling plastic cage.

Wooly tendrils snare the wheels

causing fits of red-faced infant rage.

But what is this? A gift from mama?

A tusky beast with cotton teeth

and softly patchwork skin,

sewed with time and thread and love

from the pages of a magazine.

One tusk becomes a surrogate teat

and soothes that infant rage,

that effect was not listed as a feature

upon the glossy page.

The doorbell ring,

a song to sing,

before the dong,

the ding.

I'm left alone

with my new sooth,

a patchwork handmade thing.

Revised Version · Home