After my mother-in-law lost her grip
in the bathtub, after the surgery to patch 
her fractured hip, after we moved her 
to the Copley nursing facility, suddenly, 
she loved me. She forgot 
that I was not of her village or religion, 
that I breastfed her grandchildren. She’d kick 
her husband out of her tiny shared room, 
and announce, “Girls only!”  I loved 
the communal dressing room feel, 
as her layers fell away
like yesterday’s clothes, as she showed herself
in peeks and flashes. How her eyes would grow 
when I walked in. She’d grab my hand.
She wouldn’t let go.