The speaker passes on a message from someone else: a meeting with the mother of the person being addressed. She seems sad and worn down. Her smile won't come easily, and the speaker sees "pain in her eyes." Yet she talks about her child with pride and hope, and the speaker notices something precious in her, "gold" that is "broken."
The turning point is the buried art. The mother admits she hid her paintings and photographs because she didn't want anyone to see them. Now she tells the speaker that the child reminds her of that work, and that burying it is something she regrets. The child, she says, is "art itself," meant for a gallery and worth love rather than money.
The speaker mostly listens, choosing not to ask questions because the mother is finally opening up. The mood is tender and quietly sad, and the repeated line "I met your mother yesterday" builds toward the simple last sentence: she loves you.