Blintzes

I wrapped my babies

like little flannel blintzes,

tidy little packages

with a sweetly delicious filling,

all their parts tucked in

for a moment.

The mothers taught me how,

their mothers taught them.

This bundling

bridges worlds

wombspace,

warm, embracing,

to worldspace,

cold, whirling and unsupported.

It calms their bodies

makes a home

for their souls,

the mothers said.

Did my mother

wrap me

like she helped wrap my babies?

I try to remember,

repeating the motions

on myself,

pulling up the triangles

over the legs

across one side and then

the other

tucked around

there!

But I am not sure

if it happened to me, too.

I do know

my mother loved

to make blintzes

pancakes like baby skin,

filled and wrapped,

one after the other,

delectable morsels

sweet ritual passed on.

Copyright Frontiers Publishing, Inc. 1999
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