The Weight of an Envelope

“I have known my mom for a long time...”
—Joseph, a first-grader quoted in our local newspaper


I’ve known my mom for a very long time
but it seems longer now that she’s been dead
three whole years now, not a card or call,
no email or letter, just a few brief cameos
at the crumbling edges of my sleep.

I have known her in fever and fury,
hers and mine both, me pale as a toadstool,
she covered with dust she cannot see.
I’ve seen her fearful or brassy and as loud
with love as with her drill sergeant commands.

I have known her to fold a straight flush,
aces high, with an ambiguous sigh,
seen her furious as the sky and silent
but just occasionally. I knew her both
before and after all her insulation
was rubbed off, and anyone who
touched her got a nasty shock.

I have known her like a jar full of buttons
to yesterday’s shirts, a cupboard full
of powdered milk from a long-dead war.
I have known her under many
assumed names, all very hush-hush
so I will say no more.

Yet she is well known around here
as the blue core of the candle flame,
sound of a deck of cards being shuffled,
smell of molasses mixed with horse tack
and wisps of hay in the water bucket.

I have known her as the weight of an envelope
in one hand while I decide whether or not
I should finally mail it. Even though she
will never receive, I will keep writing her
as long as I am able, just like a first grader
acting out both sides of the conversation.

—David Graham

Seed: "I have known my mom for a long time..."

Source: Joseph Aunchman Gr. 1, Mrs. Krogmann Kensington Rd. Elem. School, Glens Falls, New York. From the article “School Views” in The Chronicle, Feb. 11-17, 2021, Page 15.

Author of seven collections of poetry, most recently The Honey of Earth (Terrapin Books, 2019), David Graham is a retired teacher of English. He lives on the edge of the Adirondack Park in upstate New York.