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The Fuss

by Tiara Yount

New baby is fussing
The Grand Mother arrives
Laundry piles mounting
Bellies growling
Rooms Askew
Bodies exhausted, drained, thirsty
The Grand Mother is fussing
Opens windows
Brings water with ice
Arranges pillows
Folds cloth like art
Warms a meal, then a heart
The baby and now the Mother of Mother brings healing in Her wings with fussing

White towels hanging from clothesline