The Healer

Once my lower duplex neighbor
left me a used teabag.
Once she dropped off a handful
of weeds, roots and all.
Once she slipped me a newspaper clip
about fatal bee allergies.
Once she cornered me to confide
her mother hated children.


She had a Maine accent.
Her hair was thick silver.
She said Just ask if you need anything!
She said I can hear every word
you say through the heater.
She said Please stop walking
on the floor in the morning.


She was a hospital chaplain,
who won awards for her work,
so I guess the dying couldn’t tell
she moonlighted as a bad neighbor.
Or maybe they could tell—
maybe what brought them relief
was her anger.