Poetic Burp Cloths
--
burp cloth
each of us has seen it - the sight of a rosy-cheeked new-
born, perhaps a month or two into her unwombed new
life, smiling a dimpled radiant smile as she peeks over
the shoulder of her mother. her skin is cool, and sleek
as an otter's wet pelt. she can not help but stare. pearl
eyes shimmer and mouth comes unhinged at the familiar
strange creatures reflecting her own delight. they coo,
they click, they, warbling, announce a kind
of peace to her. and beneath her jaw, draped over the supple
maternal shoulder that supports
her, is that soft, four-sided plot
of stitched fabric so ingloriously
named: the burp cloth.
it isn’t only for burps.
the burp cloth is for sneezes,
too, and coughs and toss-ups
and running noses. it’s made for lazy ribbons
of drool that curl over baby chins,
sweetly staining the expensive textiles
we grown-ups wear to feel special.
but even more than its function she loves
it for its meaning. the burp cloth is our pledge
that we will understand
when strained peas or pulped squash returns
from whence it first traveled.
the burp cloth promises we will
not judge her wellspring
of saliva, even when it expresses
religiously from her delicate,
gum-heavy mouth. the burp cloth reassures
we will not hold against
her the salty, syrupy snot that falls,
or whatever else graces
our shoulders, including—especially—
her tears.
the burp cloth says,
we know.
that’s what babies do.
of course any old piece of cloth works famously.
but i can not help smiling proudly
when humans act especially human.
i have to smile when the cloth is something beautiful.
because really, in the end as in the beginning,
should it not be
so?
burp cloth
each of us has seen it - the sight of a rosy-cheeked new-
born, perhaps a month or two into her unwombed new
life, smiling a dimpled radiant smile as she peeks over
the shoulder of her mother. her skin is cool, and sleek
as an otter's wet pelt. she can not help but stare. pearl
eyes shimmer and mouth comes unhinged at the familiar
strange creatures reflecting her own delight. they coo,
they click, they, warbling, announce a kind
of peace to her. and beneath her jaw, draped over the supple
maternal shoulder that supports
her, is that soft, four-sided plot
of stitched fabric so ingloriously
named: the burp cloth.
it isn’t only for burps.
the burp cloth is for sneezes,
too, and coughs and toss-ups
and running noses. it’s made for lazy ribbons
of drool that curl over baby chins,
sweetly staining the expensive textiles
we grown-ups wear to feel special.
but even more than its function she loves
it for its meaning. the burp cloth is our pledge
that we will understand
when strained peas or pulped squash returns
from whence it first traveled.
the burp cloth promises we will
not judge her wellspring
of saliva, even when it expresses
religiously from her delicate,
gum-heavy mouth. the burp cloth reassures
we will not hold against
her the salty, syrupy snot that falls,
or whatever else graces
our shoulders, including—especially—
her tears.
the burp cloth says,
we know.
that’s what babies do.
of course any old piece of cloth works famously.
but i can not help smiling proudly
when humans act especially human.
i have to smile when the cloth is something beautiful.
because really, in the end as in the beginning,
should it not be
so?
--
And just in case you're wondering, we've uploaded tons of new burp cloths to our Etsy shop. We will soon be adding them to the site. Check them out here:
posted by polkadot papoose @ 7:33 PM
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