Recalled, as clearly as a dream, you saying once, “They learn the world with their mouths.”
Remembered the exact instant of your saying it, the light and time of day, the sight of Emily’s great white diapered butt thrust up as she bent to taste a lost rind of dry and sour smelling ham under the kitchen table.
Saw it in my palm, like catfish bait, where you placed it when I put the paper down and shouted for christ’s sake, she’s choking.
Remembered details long beyond recall. Your plump tit bulging from the oxford cloth blouse, sweet and globe-like and inviting, full with milk and as sour sometimes as the ham rind, a year and a half then into Em’s life, and her still suckling.
Learning you we each. Still.