Richelle Lee Slota

  

      Dear Old Friend, I'm Not Young and You're Gone

               Terezie Bohrer, 1939-2025

       1  

Resigned that your children were planning your funeral

in weeks, not in months, very soon, as you pushed,

the wheelchair stopped: Cancer’s got everywhere here.

I’m bald, I’m half-blind, I am gone in a flash.

But first, until then, I am prowling the dating apps,

just seeking for a boyfriend who’s not all that serious.

Don’t want him left crying the day of my death.

The daughters asked yesterday, Will I have sex?

Yes!

        2                                             

I am here, where you’ve been,                      

and you’re there, starting death.                    

Is there hope, is there breath?                        

Can you sing, can you sin?                            

You are nowhere I can reach.                        

You’re no longer a load.                                

Can you switch out the latch?                       

Does it itch, can you scratch?                        

Can you send out a code?

       3

Dear old friend, I’m not young and you’re gone,

left your houseplant so alive, which I love,

whose clear juices of aloe heal wounds,

but not hope, a scarce fuel this cold life.

I have struggled with dreams and my thoughts

spun long loops all wrapped up with your secrets

in my bones that your life and death tenderly

and warm mercifully, beautifully soul tends.