Baby Clothes

Down from the attic you brought the box
of baby clothes: the little socks,
the onesies, and something like a suit,
plus Great-Grandma's hand-knit booties.

After they'd been washed and dried,
Miles wanted to fold them all
for his future sibling. How small
they were we had forgotten. "Time flies,"

they say. "Don't kids grow up so fast?"
But no, each day had seemed to last
and last (even if he did outgrow
his favorite things). How long ago
it seemed that Miles had been born,
how long those clothes had been unworn.

Andrew Shields

If you've any comments on this poem, Andrew Shields would be pleased to hear from you.

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