Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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I wash and wash
your little blue blanket
while my mother rocks you

and you grow hungry
while I wash the blue
blanket and my mother

warms the bottle
and feeds you while I wash
the little blue blanket,

pouring the Ivory liquid
into the warm water
and watching it flow

and dissolve, my hands, too,
dissolving in the water,
and you grow sleepy

while my mother holds you
and when you wake
she rocks you

and when you scream
she holds you
while I wash and wash

the blue blanket because
the little blue blanket
never seems to come clean.  end  

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