1. The doll’s baby breath in her hand was bubbles. I laid her out to dry. The yard was jelly. Right there was a train track. We never slowed down. I was younger in the summer than winter. I was never late. The doll had many names but one set of clothes. I called her my own until the future was the voice of God in a tin can and the sun was the yellow string. I saw more deaf people than Down syndrome. I think I may have heard I’d always be on my knees. I used to stroke your skin and smile and babble to you in the stores. Now you love the stores. You were my backward baby with clothes inside out wearing a winter coat on a hot spring day. You are the unteachable kind that only repeats. I had a doll but it didn’t teach me much. You wouldn’t sit still and then you wouldn’t sleep and then you wouldn’t eat. I worried you’d get hurt or wander away. You like colored lights. You like movies. You like spaghetti. You don’t...