Do not expect a tragic tale
of angel felled by happenstance.
She pushed that needle in her arm -
she made her choice and took the chance.
If you require a fall from grace,
do not expect that tragic tale.
She slept her way to ill-repute,
her compass pointed straight to fail.
If you reserve your tears for those
who don't "deserve" to waste away,
do not expect that tragic tale
of tainted blood or bride betrayed.
She "earned" each bedsore, I suppose,
each weakened limb, each wrenching wail.
Locked in a fetal, withered pose -
you can expect that tragic tale.
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Author Notes
Earlier today in a review of a story about a person who suffered bedsores, I mentioned to the author I had a young friend who died of AIDS, and when I drove her elderly mother to the nursing home a few times a week to visit her in her dying months, I saw the kind of bedsores she had described, the ones that eat away clear to the bone and leave gaping holes. This author asked me if I had ever written about my friend's death. I have not until now.
This young woman in her early 30's was far from a saint in so many ways, but she would make me laugh so hard when I took her to the Chinese buffet restaurant and she tried to crack open crab legs. She loved books and she loved my little daughter, and her mother loved her fiercely. I know there are quite a few people who believe AIDS is a divine punishment for the sins of people who make choices like hers. I cannot be one of them.
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