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Callaloo 19.1 (1996) 6-12



ELEGY FOR A YOUNG MAN DYING OF AIDS

Claire Harris

  i arrive without weapons your call sudden without pity something has happened to the air you say 'i am . . . ' gesture vaguely pluck at the bedsheets ' . . . aids' air scalded you say 'keep my secret' as if no one had spoken the word homeless your room dips into shadow now your fevered faces gleam against faded pillows electronic i v a mast where courage/ anguish billow giant sails women we sit isolated chairs window other bed gasping on your beach all air gone into those sails seconds minutes wash over rock us where we sit you swim away floundering just beyond fingertips closet doors gape philosophical mums wilt above your head tulips dim what is there to attempt except the banal talk all gossip and Olympiad in truth no riddles interest you except one you watch eyes wicked/delighted when two others burst in hands full wide Cochrane sky caught in early crocus you rise to a frisson of hysteria we plunge blooms into jugs glasses a bottle you thank us you smile as into a mirror in your too blue eyes [End Page 6] crocus droop your thirty three year old flesh melts burning you go before a man fierce enamoured of cynicism and faith who would not weep friend something of you diminished yet escaping these marks trails through air like smoke face it the whole damn episode yourself life/death constructed with the same reckless ferocity others construct an athlete see here the bones: you are born house warm comfortable full of laughter you are three God raises his eyes your father dies mother's little man an altar boy charmed by precision pageantry clean cut of church law between altar and rails you give yourself wholeheartedly at fifteen you know who you are by inches joy curdles and love the word becomes thrust wit bitter edged as you fought through clouds of gall self bruised East-end contempt of/for women inherited turned now against you male blessed in the arms of males between this and your Catholic desire for absolutes [End Page 7] there was no place in your philosophy for you you learn to dissemble a second self restless you become a teacher try abstinence restless you fall in love you try commitment restless you enter a seminary you try the priesthood for six months restless you begin to cruise searching night streets retreat confession penitence restless daily mass at Sacred Heart restless the streets again mass again absolution and so and thus and how on to the last lover your skin erupts Vancouver? San Francisco? Calgary? now you cruise clubs listening everywhere for the skeleton with jester's bells mass again and lies you hold your secret only now and again a volcanic bitterness a spitting in the face of fate hating your skin a reckless driving restless [End Page 8] to be rid and mass again. . . . in the face of this what consolation when your doctor eyes shivering behind his brightness opens the door we slip out hastily discard imaginary masks our whispered 'see you wednesdays' rush to greet gulping breaths where Calgary streams through the grasp of a chinook brown grass gleaming in soft winter light today you stride the room stretch swing your arms cheeks flushed determined how well you wear rumpled hospital blue checked blue edged robe elegant as bone vivid in your dying alone with you i do not ask your face a rosetta stone i remember our grievous assurance in a religion class i'm saying 'it's the most important thing you'll ever do' dying you say to all that crowded life 'pray you're conscious you wouldn't want to miss it' what now you've come to it so soon i cannot hear the flutter of wings anywhere from your window we watch mist and February steep the river banks among ghost poplars athletes run eloquent loneliness of cats one paces the swift Bow in its narrow channel lone woman surrounded by herself morning miles always... 

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