In Albuquerque,
cockroaches rustled in the sink at midnight
while my baby cried in the white crib
In the small adobe cabin,
the nightly crying
echoed off the irregular walls,
tugging at my heart.

In the dark dining room, the crib's white enamel slats
gleamed in the dark below red burlap curtains.
Some primal urge had caused me to spend several weeks
painting teddy bears on this crib
the summer before he was born.



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