Mom's Purse

When you’re the mom you carry the purse, That’s the natural rule of the universe. To a mom a purse is more than a bag, It’s a safety net when the world starts to sag. The pockets hold things that her family might need, Like a granola bar with sunflower seed. There’s a half eaten cookie and a clean pair of socks, And a tool her grandfather gave her to set cuckoo clocks. There’s a broken dolly in need of repair, And a bright orange scrunchie to pull back her hair. There are aspirins and band-aids and a coupon book, Redeemable for vacations that never got took. And way at the bottom is a memory of a girl, Who would dress so young and gaily twirl. In those days she carried a purse so small, A dainty little bag hardly anything at all. As she takes out the memory and starts to go through it, She breaks out in a grin because there’s a sucker stuck to it. She remembers what that girl wanted most for her life, Was to one day be a mom and a good man’s wife. Each memory she touches she remembers with pleasure, And each item she carries becomes a small treasure. That’s why when you’re the mom you carry the purse, It’s the natural rule of the universe.