a ladder has worn in the thin rubber
skin at the back of your head, like
the walls of a balloon. balon.
who does the baby even belong to?
is the mother the daughter or is the daughter
the sister? laughter echoes louder with each return.
the body is trim, the body is taught to remember
movements just as it recovers the uncovered.
we all pull the hems of our tops
over our baby’s bumps. but baby’s are all bumps.
all of our lines come out in time.