darras

We are at the edge of the woods where I go for walks she is a foreigner Here in Norway she says licking her lips Do you leave your babies out in the cold to sleep? Steam rises between us and escapes she hugs her purse strap for warmth for some reason she seems afraid Yes I say we do Every day we carry our babies in blankets crocheted by an elderly relative whose name we no longer speak but suck on like raw resin The thread must be made of silk mixed with horse's hair the horse must be dead, of course the silk can be imported it's easier to get these days We must turn north and our babies' heads must point eastward we must walk all the w