Milk tears

  

[photo found @ Pinterest
]
 

My body cries

milk tears

willing satiation.

In poverty

my body gives a

pauper’s feast:

lacking quantity,

lacking flow,

I lack his latch.

Bottle beckons –

inanimate competitor.

Gradual coaxing then

mother and son meet.

My body cries

milk tears –

joy of early

morning feeding.

It’s been a long time since I posted a new poem, but I’ve been busy with the results of another (pro)creative project! This is an early reflection on dealing with a newborn (who is now 3 months old).

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