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.