Poem On: Day 26

Happiny (#440)

Nearly tripped over her
on the kitchen floor, feeding
a doll imaginary formula,
tucking it in with kiss
and teatowel on a sack
full of rye. From the playhouse
she drags the last detail: a doll
one scale smaller, for the first
to cuddle. Thoughts of this
Russian nest charm me,
littler and littler dolls, recursion
to the absurd, until the last, least
baby holds a haploid egg. There’s
the trap: pretending to love
is learning to love, and from there
things happen.