The Museum
The artifacts always surprise me
A tiny hair clip with sparkly flower
In the bathroom bottom drawer
One much too small striped sock
In the laundry room basket
The dusty Lego castle relic
On top shelf of my grown sons closet
A chipped clay pot hand painted
Now engulfed in the weeds of garden
The removable door frame jam
That charted my children’s growth
When I enter that particular room
Art from kindergarten found
Still stuffed under the bed,
That favorite library book
from the 4th grade, we could never find,
replaced with a fine
My museum collection is growing…
Not intentionally curated and
Displayed behind glass
Not marked with plaques
of historical significance
My museum pieces are native artifacts
Having sprung from the landscape
of this family’s history, traveling
From house to house
From city to mountain to island
From hospital NICU to college
And my most valuable piece remains
Privately held in my top dresser drawer
The cherrywood covered tea canister
Containing the ashes of my infant daughter
No tickets will be sold for public viewings
No auctions held for the irreplaceable valuables
No articles written about our vintage stories
Yet the surprise of the artifacts
In my collection,
takes my breath away—
With the awe of my motherhood museum;
A private evolutionary exhibition
