Warm, yellow, mote-ridden morning sunlight
and a rolling plastic cage.
Wooly tendrils snare the wheels
causing fits of red-faced infant rage.
But what is this? A gift from mama?
A tusky beast with cotton teeth
and softly patchwork skin,
sewed with time and thread and love
from the pages of a magazine.
One tusk becomes a surrogate teat
and soothes that infant rage,
that effect was not listed as a feature
upon the glossy page.
The doorbell ring,
a song to sing,
before the dong,
I'm left alone
with my new sooth,
a patchwork handmade thing.