When I was eight
my neighbour
wore ponchos and drank
loose leaf tea.
She had long grey hair and bunions
and a Croatian name
that I couldn’t pronounce.
One afternoon
a crank call
a pervert
breathing ugly things
into our ears.
My friend and I tossed the phone
back and forth
giggling how gross
but my stomach was thick
with fear.
Afterwards, we asked if we could jump
on my neighbour’s little trampoline
that she said was good
for her lymphs.
I assumed her lymphs
were her pets
but I was secretly scared
of what kind of animal
she would keep
so I never asked to see them.
She must have sensed something
because she lay us down
cracked the leg
of one of her octopus plants
rubbed it on our temples.
Aloe
she said
it makes the scars
go away.
When I was in university
I heard she’d left a note:
cancer.
A list of rare herbs
a hike deep into the local mountains
a final sleep
please don’t come looking
you’ll never find me
smile for me
I am already
gone.
I did try
but a part of me wished
someone had been there
for her
to rub her temples
as she left.