A Funny Feeling

You’ll think you see her walking on the road, hunkered down in her coat like she did, that headscarf a knot at her chin. Turn, and it’ll be a stranger, some old woman from way up in the holler, trying to catch a ride into town.

Or just before good daylight, half-awake, you’ll swear you hear her talking in the kitchen, firing up the wood for breakfast meat and coffee. Open your eyes, house as still as tombs. It’s a funny feeling— now I’ll tell you. You don’t know a thing until you’ve lost your mother.