I don't know what to make,
Of this box you left for me.
You said, it was Great Grandmas,
But as far as I can see,
The contents, belong to mom,
The plates, her mother bought her.
I don't know why you ever took,
The gifts she gave her daughter.
I'm not sure, what I'm supposed to make,
Of the wedding stuff, you tucked inside.
Are they supposed to be, little jabs,
Because you were not apart of mine?
Or the bowl that bears your name,
Your mother gave to you, to keep.
I'm not sure why, you would include it
Nor the reaction that you seek.
I'm unsure of your intentions,
You've always had an aim.
It's hard to tell, if your sincere,
Or if this, is just another game.
Copyright © Erica Gould