Motherhood
The way the mother’s fingers lift and squish her breast to help the baby latch.
The way the baby’s hand clutches his mother’s finger as he nurses.
The way the baby’s eye looks up, trustingly, at his mother’s face.
The way the mother looks down at him, tender and absorbed, meeting his eye.
The way the older sister is so very intent on her baby brother.
The way she sits so close, her nose close enough to sniff his head.
The way she moves from her mother’s shoulder to her mother’s elbow.
The way one girl looks like two girls.
The way she is herself in both views, beside herself and in herself.
The way her eyes are almost closed as she looks and looks.
The way you cannot tell what she thinks of him.
The way her gold ribbons curl around her face in droopy bows.
The way the mother’s gorgeous green dress drapes loose.
The way the baby’s legs curl up as if he was still in the confines of the womb.
The way they are framed by frilly white geraniums.
The way I have been everyone in this painting.
