Our Memory Tree

It might not be pretty.

One might even call it cluttered.

But I look at this mess

And each ornament,

Hung half-hazardly from those branches

Is a beautiful memory.

I see plump fingers working so hard

To pry open the loop of a purple Ikea Christmas ball,

Circa 2006.

That snowman with half of his head missing–

It was taken out by the pregnant belly carrying baby number two.

There are hand-sewn family heirlooms,

And ceramic painted figures

That have the distinct pallet of throw-up.

There is a horse-face.

And a ball of string the exact length of my daughter’s height in kindergarten.

There are clumps of ornaments

All pressed up against each other,

Fighting for space on a single drooping branch.

There are blues, and greens, and reds, and whites…

And I love them all.

Some may look at our tree and be overwhelmed

By the startling amount of things,

Or the blatant disorganization of their placement.

But I watched three little bodies take great care

In making it just-so.

I look at that beautiful mess and all I see

Are memories.