Milk

Like many of us I met my mother after the incubator stopped recording my early history. When the blinking red light winked out and the Perspex lid lifted off like an alien wing, hands larger than the only world I knew passed me to a disturbed being. I felt her fear and doubt, her bewilderment and disappointment, then I commenced to wail. How do I recall all this? Blood left small pain prints across my brain. Mother said she never gave me her tit, could not. I gave up drinking milk in my teens. Doctor said I was lactose intolerant, but I knew there was no love in it for me.