Trotting into my mothers room
It’s resting like a jewel in a museum
Sitting and subtly reminding her
Almost as a remnant or a shrine
So compact and yet
At the same time
Constantly expanding

I made it for her at some point
In Patton Elementary
It was for art class
The teacher never said
We are making something
For your mother today
But I made it
for her
I guess
that’s why
It’s so special
to her
And
to me

Everyone in that class
Made one too
Being little
None of us were crafting prodigies
Most probably made it
Then scraped it
But I kept mine
Not even knowing
If she’ll have use
For it
Or even like it

But she did
It meant enough
And by enough
I mean everything
In it, is
Her hard work
Her stress
Her worry
Her care
Her compassion
She puts all of this
In that box