Old best friends have a potluck brunch
for one of them who will soon
be entering the arcade of no-return.

They suppress immense sobs,

offering her the best of Zabar’s Nova,
whitefish salad, pickled herring
and bagels with everything.

The patient sits, a ghost of her former self.
Her husband can’t stop hugging and kissing
her bald head. She sometimes smiles,

even though she is overheard saying:
“You know, I’m going to die,
I don’t want to take anymore pills.”

He weeps every time he tries to speak
But he comes alive when asked to show us
the steps from Zorba’s Syrtaki dance.

Everyone joins in a healing meditation,
in spite of one woman saying:
“It’s not my values, I don’t go for that stuff.”

We all get silent, breathe as one,
as the mystery of stillness
transports us to another place
where everyone feels connected.