Mom’s Topiary Trees

I asked my mother to pick her favorite item,

As we pack up her things in the old home.

She looks at me inquisitive, and her eyes

Resemble those of a young girl.

I noticed it a few years ago,

But it’s clearer now.

As she aged, my old mother

Also turned child-like.

Her memory comes and goes,

And sometimes she does her best to pretend

That she understands what I’m saying,

But I can see her confused eyes.

We’re packing her things in boxes,

Before we move her into my house.

I see many of the objects I observed

Growing up, covered in dust now.

She sits with her hands in her lap,

And suddenly her eyes come back to me.

She points to a pair of tole topiary trees,

And for a moment we are together again.

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