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{pumping breast milk at work} tammy f. brewer The machine says you're cold you're cold you're cold. If only it were as simple as making hot chocolate in the break room -- just add water and watch him grow. Some babies are born from the belly of a tree. Strong and stout the way a mother must return to work full of splinters and growing pains. Her breasts are uneven. Her breasts are like spokes radiating from the center of a bicycle wheel. The art of balancing on one leg with a bucket of water. This is how a tree is nourished: from roots to leaves. Milk spills onto a table, leaves a ring of white around the lip. A baby latches on to his mother's nipple. Behind a closed door a tree falls in the forest. The machine says don't do it, don't do it, don't do it. Does anyone hear? |
