Dressing My Daughters
One girl a full head taller
Than the other — into their Sunday dresses.
First, the slip, hardly a piece of fabric,
Softly stitched and printed with a bud.
I’ m not their mother, and tangle, then untangle
The whole cloth — on backwards, have to grab it
Round their necks. But they know how to pull
Arms in, a reflex of being dressed,