A lot of things in this poem remind me of my mom. It makes me think of the middle finger on her right hand. It was crooked and she told me it was because of how she held pens and pencils when she wrote. Her handwriting was smooth and effortless, easy to read.Her signature was relatively easy to read, even if the “E” of her first name looked more like a “U.” My handwriting, on the otherhand, ranges from reasonably legible to little more than chicken scratch and you can only really clearly see the “A” and “R” in my signature.
I’ve started going through more of her things and setting aside stuff for donations. I came across an old check register and flipped through it. It was comforting to see her handwriting. As much as the practical side of me wanted to throw it out, I instead put it in my nightstand drawer. I can only let go of so much right now.