The Babysitter



The baby was about six months old,

a girl. The length of her life, I had not

touched anyone. That night, when they went out

I held the baby along my arm and

put her mouth to my cotton shirt.

I didn't really know what a person was, I

wanted someone to suck my breast,

I ended up in the locked bathroom,

naked to the waist, holding the baby,

and all she wanted was my glasses, I held her

gently, waiting for her to turn,

like a cherub, and nurse. And she wouldn't, what she wanted

was my glasses. Suck me, goddamnit, I thought,

I wanted to feel the tug of another

life, I wanted to feel needed, she grabbed for my

glasses and smiled. I put on my bra

and shirt, and tucked her in, and sang to her

for the last time — clearly it

was the week for another line of work —

and turned out the light. Back in the bathroom

I lay on the floor in the dark, bared

my chest against the icy tile,

slipped my hand between my legs and

rode, hard, against the hard floor, my nipples holding me up off the glazed

blue, as if I were flying upside

down under the ceiling of the world.





"The Babysitter" will appear in Sharon Olds' forthcoming book Blood, Tin, Straw