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