Poesy

Lost in thought, the baby

Primarily

I am a mother.
When he was sick;

I engaged his imagination
with a book—

the perfect—I seized it; his
weakened defenses.

This is the way I have
filled his mind

egg and milk and butter and bread
all together—

that's a lot for a small child to take in.
Like Maisie

in the novel is a sieve.
What we want to cultivate in him:

A fat man's
personality on a thin man.

- Rebecca Wolff

via poets.org