I used to love to watch my mother wrap presents
It was magical
Seeing her hands
Quick and nimble with the scissors
Never needing to stop
Never making the slow, clumsy cuts like I made
The slicing of the paper
Making that certain sound that tickled my ears
And the precise way everything always matched up
Folding down the edges
So as not to show the rough uneven sides
And giving me the most important job
Of holding down the paper with my index finger
While she rips a piece of tape
Pressing down until my finger nail
Turned a pinkish red color




I would await her return and smile as she says

That I am the best wrapping paper holder
And thanks me for my help because
She never could have done it without me
Finally finished, it was perfect




Bright shining colors that would catch my eye

And the springy bow on top
That looked like the bouncing curls


I always wished I had in my hair
With its crisp edges and hospital corners
She made it a piece of art



Nobody could wrap a present better
Than my mother