How to tell the neighborhood?
All the people that passed
used to know her.
Who would want to know she’s gone?
She’s cremated.
She didn’t want a service.
She didn’t want anyone to know
but she can’t be so easily forgotten.
Why should anyone
be so easily forgotten?

Were she well,
she’d be on the street today,
telling all the passersby
that the crazy lady at eleven nineteen
had just passed.
They might not know her name
but they’d know who she meant
if she were well enough
to be on the street
to report the news
of her own passing.

In her absence
who is suited to serve her purpose?
Who has a mouth big enough
to shout of her demise?
I know none of my neighbors,
I don’t know who she knew.

Maybe a notice on the front door?
Some graffiti?
A live performance of some short attention span poetry
dedicated especially to Dottie Jonas?
A single candle?
A bonfire in one of our very many
empty lots?
What to do?
No one
should be so easily forgotten.