The Gifts Grandchildren Wrap

We sign and take the box from UPS,
brown paper our daughter wrapped
for her daughter, a yard-long gift

three inches thick. Inside, torn red-
and yellow paper stuck by Jillian
at odd angles, pieces stitched

like jigsaw puzzles jammed together
to make them fit, a Pollock painting.
My wife holds it on her lap and laughs,

picturing Jillian’s toddler tongue
licking around, around to place the tape
just so, then shoving to stick it down

for Mamaw and Pop. Inside’s a photo of her,
we’ve heard, framed for hanging.
We’ll keep it with others, gladly,

for years–but now, for minutes, this taped
and tangled wrapping is the world,
sand painting we can’t bear to shake.