I have written before of the earlier loss of my mother. Being so young when she died, she had not accumulated many things. There wasn't a treasure trove of any sort of inheritance. My grandmother boxed up various things from her for me. One item was a wallet. Nothing special; a well-worn wallet. Inside her driver's license, business cards, black and white grainy photos of high school girlfriends with beehive hairdos. The metallic smell mixed with old musty leather.

But tucked inside an inner pocket
was a list.
There it was
A piece of her
Handwriting,
Her organization,
Our weekly foods,
A mother, a wife a person existed.
Now my treasure.