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.