THE OTHER SIDE OF TENDERNESS (My AIDS Diary) EIGHT: Death Will Come

Death will come
like a sweet white rose
or a gift with wrappings
that will slowly enclose me
and ribbons to strangle
and bows

Death will come
with thorns to pierce
my black heart

A surprise party
an unexpected prize
and I honoured in mahogany
or teak
take a peek
before flames enfold me
and I depart

I have always equated annihilation
with crashing through dead walls
and wanting to stay

But death will come
while I still waiting
am hating the silence
and fate will take me
calmly away
without a sound

Carlton’s Diary:
Saturday, 23rd February 1991

I’m back at home; fearful and anxious. I’m shocked by the colour that’s suddenly flooding my vision; the green of the trees, the blue of the sky, anything that isn’t the stark white of the hospital.

Monday, 25th February 1991

Went back to work today and was plagued with forgetfulness and panic attacks.

Monday, 4th March 1991

In my dream life I live with Michael, my imaginary AIDS infected lover, nursing him through infections, but in the end he succumbs to the opportunistic diseases that plague him and I mourn his passing.

It’s six weeks since my last test and I went to Cyril to give blood. I’ll have the final verdict in three days.

Thursday, 7th March 1991

Rather than phone I went to see Cyril to get my test results. He smiled broadly at me when I entered his office. “Your blood test has come back negative. I think it’s safe to say that the first test was a false positive. You definitely don’t have AIDS.”

Instead of euphoria this news is an anti-climax; it’s not what I deserve and I’m unreasonably depressed by it.

Saturday, 9th March 1991

Last night I wrote off another car. This is the second major accident that I’ve had. I was driving near the scene of the last crash and thought, “This is so perfect, so easy,” and gently spun the wheel. The car did a number of spectacular spins and turns and rolls, but when it finally landed and was stationary, I emerged unscathed once more.

I looked at the wreckage and felt like Lazarus emerging from the tomb. Hearing a swish of robes I turned in time to see the glint of black wings disappearing into the darkness.

Saturday, 16th March 1991

It’s a sunlit morning and the fresh smell and gentle noises of the garden are filtering into the room. I’ve been sitting here, writing, for some time. Cathy comes in with a cup of tea. Her face is swollen with sleep; she smiles dreamily at me, kissing my cheek. She never talks when I’m writing and no longer reads what I’ve written. We’re together and that’s enough for her.

Last night we were talking about her past. She said, “My past happened before you knew me but I was a witness to yours. It’s going to be so much harder for me to forget.”

How much does she know or how much has she guessed? I don’t ask.

Cathy sits at a table completing her jigsaw puzzle. She carefully places the final pieces, a little frown of concentration teasing her forehead. She pauses and sighs and then looks up with a smile of acceptance, “There’s a piece missing.”

(From Part Three of Other Voices, a semi-autobiographical novel of triumph over adversity by Carlton Carr)
(Mixed Media Collage: Death Will Come by Carlton)
© Carlton Carr 2013
http://othervoices.blog.co.uk