Baby Clothes

In the attic is a box,
The cardboard cold and dusted
Like something olden,

Though I know
It has sat silently
For seven years at most.

Curious, I slit
The tape with my nail,
Open back the flaps

And from inside
Another world reaches out
To seize my heart,

Which not knowing
How else, escapes in
Love’s tears.

Them all there together,
Snug like little mice,
Or moles in a deep field.

In soft layers of childhood,
Already a life ago,
I dig the precious soil.

We paraded them in these,
Amazed at their
Perfection, nestling

Them close in tiny
Suits – like this one with
The moon winking.

I bury the raiments
Again, as she had done,
Like truffles,

Hiding in their tubers
The terrible mystery
Of time.