A memory of my mom and all that she meant to me

She made me my first reticule when I was ten years of age
cutting an empty javex container she basketed the base
then used her crochet to knit the yellow phentex into a purse,
including a string to gather and hug the curve of my hand;
In that moment , she taught me how to treasure things
and put them inside soft places
where they could be hidden, from the rest of the world;
My mother, my confident, my first best friend,
stitched to my heart the memory of her actions
as I the soakant in souled her like a kiss
Inside the satchel I kept an Avon sachet, "basket of scented violets"
and the memory of those blessed hands.
If I close my eyes I can still recall the statue that sat in our living room
Our Lady Of Fatima
Three elective children, The Leonardi Clan" praying the rosary on plastic covered couches;
Mom was our compass of faith, as we prayed,
I thought of my little pouch, and all the treasures I stored inside.