Untitled
Alexandria Madero
On the walk back from the hospice having had just about enough
ready to be free of the word AIDS.
i spit it onto the ground, trying to wrench its bitter taste from my mouth.
walking around NYC numb and preversly quiet
christmas is here
and i am so afraid,
guilty of my own breath still coming in naturally
escaping in clouds of unspoken sorrows
and only so much space left in this girl's soul
for those i now know will
be gone next year when i come to visit the tree and skate
at wollman
and eat clams with my aunt in staten island
drinking chianti and looking at photo albums
loving her and the way she loves me unconditionally
i am safe for a moment
and all of these people i now know
dead
and
gone
i feel the weight of their lives
and have their faces etched and reproduced
life size cardboard figures
standing in a room inside
staring out forever
through me
