the artist is gone.

the artist is gone.

she did it,

she finally died

in her sleep, in the night,

like we always hoped.

It doesn’t feel real yet,

that the artist,

the survivor,

the women who struggled so hard to fight

such a savage disease,

is now gone

gone

gone.

Thank god, we labeled the paintings

before she left.

Why didn’t I capitalize that?

Maybe, because she never did…

The artist is gone,

she left while her cat was still in her bed,

and her family was around her,

and my grandfather told her she could go.

The artist is gone.

profound moments

profound moments

I am sitting,

you are standing to the right of me.

The book is open:

“A yit kadash a yit kadar a yit amen…”

She is standing now too.

to my left.

I am in the center,

still chanting.

She stretches her arms,

riddled with veins and arthritis.

They hold each other, still chanting.

I am sitting in the middle,

I chant too.

They are shaking,

but this,

this is what true friendship is.