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.
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