The envelopes would arrive at random:
filled with clippings, sometimes
highlighted in yellow, with a Post-It
reading "Trivia From Mom." Dear Mom:
here's some trivia from the living.
I refilled a prescription today, and
picked up the dry cleaning. I've been
wearing your cashmere shawl
on cold days -- believe it or not
we still have those. My son
practices the Four Questions nightly
before bed, earnest and sweet.
Do you remember typing them
on your IBM Selectric for me,
transliterated -- one of my brothers
must have sung them to you --
so I could sing them before I knew
Hebrew? You'd be proud of him.
For a while I was afraid
we'd left one of his dress shoes
in Texas at your funeral, but
it turned up at his father's house.
I can go hours at a time, forgetting
that it hurts that you're gone.