I need to make the baby eat. How do I feed the man who refuses; what will entice the weak bird?
I fill a dropper with tepid water while sweet, translucent gelatin tosses jewel colors on the white linen. My wants are my guide. I can’t count on them to channel a higher will.
Maybe a spoonful of milk-soaked bread will coax and convince—take what I offer, and thrive.
What I think they need turns into what I need to do about it. They may be satisfied. I am hungry for them.
