Baby Dishes
pin prick of winter rain
rounds the corners of each windowpane
gone each morning only to return
he surprises her every evening
and she will clean them every now and again
bottles and spoons palmed tenderly, one by one
she finds them there in the bottom cabinet
making no nonsense of her baby wishes
every color, every embellishment
a rainbow swept out and away
the tiny dish with the soft suction
the big tray for all those fingered joys
the slotted valve on the tippy cup
all customized for a pint-sized person
a generation that would not be
she thinks no one knows of her tender afternoons
her affected affirmations
but the riot of plastic and melamine stands out
and the sleet saw it all