Patricia Fargnoli (November 16, 1937 – February 18, 2021)
I wake up to a world that is invisible,
no golden trees, no picnic spread on the lawn.
The ladies in hats have finished their tea
and moved on.
None of the questions I spent life asking
have been answered.
Transience, evanescence, the dispersal of dust.
God knows where, and is no where.
What good has my life been?
Whiteness sheets all that has vanished.
The hospital is gone. In the distance, a piano
casts its notes into the great absence,
which is where I’ve been heading—all along.