Fierce Lullaby

I’m the mistress of straight seams stitched 
with a bent needle and blind hems raised 
or lowered according to your prom night whim. 
Yet stashed in the back of my closet are quilt 
squares sewn out of plumb, untrimmed and unbound,
that will never warm the bed you’ve since outgrown
and a twirly skirt left unflounced for want of zipper 
and button. Still, before your birth, I labored 
to make you a bunting bag, cushion-lined 
with lamb fleece, hood ruffed with fox fur 
as well as its snarling teeth and its outer shell 
mined with fishhooks and shards of glass 
designed to guard you from all harm 
after my arms fall away.