My Mother’s Funeral

“Don’t ya cry, littlun,” said Uncle, wiping the tears off my face with bruised knuckles twice the size of my own. After, his hand came to rest on my shoulder.

My mother was gone, but I could see her lying there in her open casket.

He took my hand and dragged me away from her. My leather soles slipped on the surface of autumn leaves. The funeralgoers paid us no mind. They cried for the passing of my mother.

I cried not because I lost her, but because he had found me.

“No one will keep us apart now, littlun.”