Fauxku Choo Choo (the play's the thing)

[rayheinrich]

    Pricked finger signals
    boobs -- milk of sleep, sleep of lust,
    blood my baby's bite.
   
    boobs
    milk
    mom
    oh damn, i was supposed to call her back an hour ago*


*

This last bit is true... but I did and everything's OK.
I read her this poem and we got to talking about breast-feeding us kids. I was her first and she
wasn't that coordinated at it and had a breast flop out in public many more times than once.
Back when she was nursing me, she was going through an Indian (Native Amer.) phase. She made
leather moccasins, stitched beads on them, and had these two long braids like you see in the movies.
One of the few really early childhood memories I have is riding on her back holding on to her braids.
What I don't remember -- mom just told me -- was that I'd do that when I was nursing.
Mom: "It was very convenient, I could sit typing out a letter and nursing you at the same time."