We’re all dreamers, we don’t know who we are.
From: “Mother and Child” by Louise Gluck

1)
I was four and liked
to slither under
the kitchen table
where cool linoleum 
and silk-edged blanket
aided my beloved thumb sucking.
Mid-morning the women
made lunch and I’d slide
silently beneath their
dresses to peek up
into the great darkness 
of that veiled world.

2)
Once, I remember coming out
from below to see
Aunty’s twisted face
filled with tears.  I knew
it was not because of me
she was wringing her hands
and chanting: I don’t know…
I don’t know…I don’t know