Hand -Me-Downs

I am folding pink onsies, thermal sleepers
Socks the size of my thumb
Stuffing paper grocery sacks
full of clothes my daughter has outgrown.

This assorted collection once new to me
Gathered by way of consignment shops, parcels from sister- in -laws,
bags on the doorstep from a neighbor.
A co-worker hands me a 6-9 month jacket in the parking lot,
too small now for her son.
The tender way she offers,
as if she loves this tiny hooded coat so much,
the landmark it represents.

It is my turn to reincarnate this baby wardrobe--
Bibs, blankets and booties.
Countless moments of beauty and heartbreak absorbed into fabric.
I am bundling a hundred memories,
stacking swatches of the last newborn I'll ever have.

I pass these hand-me-downs on
to no one I even know--
friend of a friend.
As I sort and pack,
I imagine the young mother kneeling over the bags
Holding up each downy outfit between index finger and thumb
Hand to heart saying things like, "How could anything be cuter?"
I feel her marrow love
The trepidation of dressing a being that naked

This lineage--
ribbon, terry cloth,
cotton, velvet and velour.
Clothes connecting mothers and babes
weaving braids of beginnings, of hope
Creating a grand quilt,
or a prayer flag.