Two dim bulbs cast a hazy orange light

from the branches of the pole lamp

in the corner of the button room.

One brown box with serrated cardboard edges

stood out

in the middle of the shiny tiled floor.

I'd drag my brown button box,

filled to the top with unused buttons,

under the big sewing stool.

Hiding there,

I'd dip my small hand into

the depths of button waters,

plunging into the button box.

Buttons overflow,

sliding off my skin

as I extend tiny fingers,

turning my hand slowly

careful not to spill the button treasure

onto the floor.

Both hands dive

until Nana switches off the faint light,

forgetting I am submerged

in her button room.