My little box, 

holds so many things.

Photos, stamps, and old letters.

Jars, paintbrushes, and earrings made of feathers.

It holds my mother, and who she was.

My little box, 

holds so many things.

Candle wax, a box cutter, and an old yearbook.

Magazine cutouts, drawings, and cassettes.

It holds my mother, and who she wanted to be.

These memories are something, 

I can never replace.

They are the mementos of my mom's good days.

Her loves, 

Her battles, 

Her scars, 

Her fears, 

Her hopes,

Her dreams.

Despite where she is now and where life takes her, 

that box will always be a piece of me. 

The smell of her candles, and old musty perfume,

will always remind me of what I love most.

My little box, holds my mother.

So my little box, 

holds my heart.