Dozens of pastel-colored infantwear
hanging neatly on silver racks—
daring shoppers to pass by
without their breath being taken away
by such cuteness—
greeted me as I stepped onto the escalator,
my 18-year-old college-bound son in tow,
on our way to buy bedding for his new home.
My eyes transfixed by those tiny garments,
with their tiny arms and tiny feet,
as we were carried upwards and onwards
to the next level.