A drawer stuffed full of crafts and worksheets from school
A post-it on every surface with lists and requests that you’ll
Scribble quickly, then hold up
“Hug me please,” “Play tickle monster”
Or
“Time to color.”
The counterfeit money that you made
So that Irene wouldn’t crinkle your dollar,
Or the heap of paper on the floor, in fragments
She cut with kid scissors, one of her new talents.
The notes you exchange with your grandparents, us and bestfriends
Feel like treasures I can’t possibly expend
But the drawer is already full, I can only save so many papers
Though I’m desperately afraid the memory will pass like this season, as a vapor
hope for the sojourn 