by DEY RIVERS

Christine Shan Shan Hou, *all alone in my study,* hand cut collage on paper, 10 x 6.75 inches, 2022. Courtesy of the artist.

Old Aged (for Annie)

DEY RIVERS| MAR 2023 | Issue 22

I used to be lively.

Parties and gatherings held every few weeks. Seeing working bodies and inviting protest meetings where I met my first love. I was surrounded by children playing. That’s what I miss most, the children. Their running to and fro. Their cries and laughter. I don’t know how long I’ve been alone. My creaky old bones feel all the drafts; the rain is worse. Dripping from my head and seeping through my sides. No fires burn in my belly to chase away the chill. Moldering here on a bed of mushrooms with knotted, knobby arthritic limbs.

I’m a huge hulking mess.

I do get a few visitors every now and then. They talk in whispers as if I cannot hear them. They have questions about my care and if I’m worth the price of upkeep. I receive a visit from a group who clunk around, poke at my sore spots.

Noting where I’ve deteriorated.

Take measurements.

One promised to have commercially sound plans for my burial.

I am told it is necessary to prepare for the end.

Two people introduced themselves in bright-eyed enthusiasm. They pasted over my cracks. Installed silver contraptions with vibrant colored screens full of their memories and flashy dreams. I made the mistake of showing them the family of mice who’ve kept me company for the past few years. They suggested some changes they said would make me more comfortable. Instead, they killed the mice.

I cursed those two all the way out.

A raccoon had kits under my porch.

A few juveniles broke in, chased away the raccoons with their raucousness, and shattered my ornate stained-glass.

I lose my sight.

A fence is placed around me. Boarded up and cut off, I mark each season. Tentative damp in fuzzy bursts, the flutter of birds then bats in my attic; burning and dusty with heady florals; rustling slow decay and the acrid vapors of rats moving into my walls.

“Hello.” A warm voice greets me, washes my face, carefully patches my sores. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

No one has ever called me pretty or little.

A new smell fills my halls. Soft steps trailing smoky herbs curl into my crevices and corners. I inhale the smoke deeply and the fresh air, a cold sharp two- or three-day old snow. They catch the bats and rats, release them far away. New lenses are fitted, but my sight is too far gone. Sometimes they dance and sing through all my rooms, filling my ears with heartbeat music. We sit shoulder to shoulder when they replay their mother’s last voice message over and over.

I decide to share my secrets.

We visit where the pawpaw and wild strawberries grow.

We go over the papers hidden under floorboards.

I speak to the mycelium to talk to the bushes and soon velvet softness and thorn pricks of roses are folded into my palms. I attempt to stretch to my full height in delight. I slip. Fracture, they say. Am told my bones suffer from dry rot so I can no longer sit upright. Soft supportive pillows are piled around me after a sponge bath. To the warm voice I joke, how much is a new spine? They know it too, but insist on making strawberry jam for us to enjoy. In the night, there is an electrical shock, my pipes burst sending ripples of relief. I weep a flood.

There is no coming back from this.

Dey Rivers is a non-binary Black american navigating mental health challenges, playing in fictional worlds and poetry, painting and collective dreaming where they reside on stolen land. Their work is based on Sankofa, in conversation with the past and present to imagine futures. They have an educational background in Fine Arts and mental health advocacy, and were selected for the 2020 Ooligan Press Writers of Color Showcase. Dey is currently revising a queer historical novel.

Christine Shan Shan Hou is a poet and artist of Hakka Chinese descent. Their publications include The Joy and Terror are Both in the Swallowing (After Hours Editions 2021), Community Garden for Lonely Girls (Gramma Poetry 2017), and “I'm Sunlight” (The Song Cave 2016). Their artwork has been exhibited at White Columns and Deli Gallery in New York City.