No tears were shed.

No tzedakah paid.

Everyone gathered ‘round.

I laid,

Lifeless,

In the living room.

But there was no funeral.

Then, I jolted up like a plant,

Ruderal.

I looked ‘round.

But there were no faces.

No ephemeral connections.

No electric osmosis,

Like when two bodies share a space in

Communion.

We were alone.

She, in her room.

I, on my couch.

She, staring at her laptop.

I, wondering what interrupted the program.

Will she hear?

Receive an invitation in her e-mail?

Wear her mask for the event?

To come and see.

To find out for herself.

That,

“Here she died,

A slap lock doll on a wobbly shelf. “