As I sit here
in this chair
in my bedroom
(a place I rarely visit except for slumber)
I stare not only at my lap top screen
yet also at my dresser.
Full inside of it are T-shirts
and carpi pants
But on top of it,
there lies memories.
When I was younger
I had a collection of Precious Moments figures
little angels and praying boys and dancing girls
I use to call my dresser and the collection my “breakable shelf”
for touch a ceramic figure and it might break.
Is the same true for memories?
Delicate little things
as fragile as a flower
yet as durable as an ancient oak tree
it all depends on the memory
Where are the keys?
When was his birthday?
Did I turn off the curling iron?
These memories upon my dresser are not fragile memories
they are parts of what make me, me
and so they are oak trees, not fragile flowers.
The first oak tree memory
belongs to a sparkling flower necklace charm,
one that was found in playground wood chips
A treasure found where another had lost it
Another oak tree memory
a pair of music box clowns
given to my father
by a great-grandmother that I never met
yet because of her gift, I feel as though I have met her
for her memory lives on in these oak tree memories
a shell found on a Lake Superior beach
a miniature elephant made from obsidian from Mexico
a rock from my yard
a key chain from my future college
some unworn superhero wrist bands
a framed picture of my first paycheck
some cutouts of superheroes from cereal boxes
a coffee cup of my grandma’s, who is currently living in Heaven
two angels given to me and my sister at my grandmother’s funeral
some Bible verses written in colorful pens
a Spider-man musical birthday card from last year
These eccentric oak tree memories
make up an eccentric me
and I hope to be
an oak tree
and not a fragile flower.
However, I must remember
that every an oak tree
starts from a teeny tiny, little acorn.
Maybe these oak tree memories
aren’t oak trees at all
maybe they are acorns
and I’m the oak tree.