NANNIES

It's mid-morning
on the streets of the Upper West
or Upper East
or wherever the upper middle class
calls home.
The nannies are out in force
with their strollers.
Black nannies.
White babies.
As always, I'm conflicted.
I rebel at the phenomenon of history
and economics
and racism
that leaves black babies at home
while their mothers tend white babies
to be able to feed their own.
I admire the goodness and decency
that allows these surrogate mothers
to nurture their charges with tenderness.
As I watch a nanny caress the cheek
of a fuzzy-headed cherub,
I remember that these are babies.
They are innocent.
And these women are
good enough
and wise enough
to know that.


© Ellen Azorin