I don't make them into something; I reveal who they are.
There are days when she wishes someone would understand her yearning to be completed, to blink, to smell smells and to share her inner longings. To be clothed is her wish.
She jumps up at the sight of me passing by; she peeks over the edge and sometimes will say, "How about now?"
"Not yet, " I say, "Not yet." But I pick her up and turn her around. I give her arms a little yank to make sure they are holding-fast. I dangle her legs to see that they are even. I glance at my stack of old crepe paper to see what colors strike me...she quietly emanates one word, "Brown."
I smile and put her back.
Maybe I even sympathize with her.