The ribbons in my braided hair,

Your folded birthday card.

The little notes you leave for me

For lunchtime every day.

The woven threads of bracelets,

The cookies that you baked.

My knitted Christmas sweater,

Our scrapbooked memories.

The boxes on my bedroom floor,

The letters that you write.

The gifts left in my mailbox

Every Saturday or so.

The turkey at Thanksgiving.

The tough advice you give.

The curtains that you cut and stitched

For the new house I bought.

Provision’s often fleeting,

Dependence, still, more so,

But one thing lasts as long as time:

A mother’s love, handmade.