I am in love with this poem by Darlene Young:
I got your jewelry, a couple of scarves, and an old dress
I claimed just because it looked like you.
But familiar though the earrings are, the scarf, the dress,
the emerald pin, no matter how I squint into the past
I can’t make out your face and now I fear
I never really saw it. Being a mother too,
this worries me.
But also when you died I got your books
and, reading them, I find you after all.