Daughters

The white laundry basket,
now a dingy yellow,
held a puppy
who turned into a dog
and a kitten
who turned into a cat

and a baby who turned
into a sister
I pulled around the house
with a jump rope

and always at the bottom,
a pair of socks—faded blue,
full of holes—
that Mom said we couldn’t
get rid of because they lived
in the basket
and had grown up in it,
just like her daughters,

all gone now.