After my father’s death, my mother kept talking to him.
When you’re a knee-scabbed, scruffy looking kid, a tree-climbing ruffian hanging from the neighbor’s crab apple tree and running away from some irate neighbor after soaping up his car windshield, on Halloween, you don’t know it but you are the unacknowledged expert of what it means to be living in your pre-pubescent body.
how happy and lucky
it made us feel to know
we had someone we loved
who loved us back
When I was a kid, sick, he’d sing Hank William’s
Hey Good Lookin,’ call me his best girl.