[abandoned ashes]
january 1, 1991
dear mom
the tree outside
my hospital room window
is bare
leafless and empty
a skeleton imposing itself
against the deep blue
expanse of sky
I sometimes imagine
this window is my mirror
that the frozen branches
caught by winter’s
frigid grasp
just have to wait
for another spring
when longer brighter days
will bring new growth
reviving the dormant tree
to life
yet I know this is
a springtime fantasy
for I am decaying
into a frail fragment
of what you must remember
of me
I’ve stopped asking the nurses
if they’ve reached you
or expect you to visit
I see the pity for you
in their eyes
the judgment
they lather
into their words
what a shame it must be
to have your only son
wasting away
from this sinful disease
my nurses treat me
like toxic waste
reviling every time
they must touch me
concealing themselves
behind masks and gloves
ready to cleanse
this filth
from the earth
I watch the tree branches
swaying in the distance
gliding past one another
how long it’s been
since I’ve felt
a thoughtful touch
or the warm embrace
of my mother’s arms
the doctors say they’ll
help manage my pain
I numbingly listen to
the helpless indifference
they’ve rehearsed and regurgitated
to countless hollow frames
of human beings
gay human beings
gay human beings with immune deficiency
gays with human decency deficiency
gays with dignity deficiency
gays with friends and family deficiency
gays with love deficiency
this must be the only disease
that forces families apart
rather than drawing loved ones
close when I need you most
who knew I would become an orphan
while both my parents are living
less than a mile away
hey mom
do you still think of me
wondering when I’ll die
so the neighbors’ whispers
will fade into the dirt
along with your former son
I’d like to be cremated
my ashes mixing with the thawing soils
nourishing the next season’s unfolding
miraculously an angel has appeared
she visits with me almost daily
she visits all of us here
a saint among the lepers
she doesn’t hide behind
a mask or gloves
yet holds my hand when I cry
her laugh is bright
and her smile is wide
I told her I want to be cremated
because I know you’ll abandon
my ashes too
mom
the end is near
my breaths are weak and shallow
my vision’s blurred
my arms and legs
have shrunk to thin twigs
is that you
are you here beside me
or is that my angel
who is destined to bury me
I close my eyes
and imagine the upcoming spring
how I’ll be planted
deep into the earth
weaving and dancing with roots
sprouting in fresh green leaves
flowering in new buds
swaying peacefully
above you mom
so I guess I will
be here this spring
after all
Note: I wrote this poem about a man dying during the AIDS crisis of the 1990s. Thousands of people, especially young gay men, were lost in the spring of their lives and sometimes shunned by their families and communities due to homophobia and a lack of understanding about HIV, which thankfully today is treatable and untransmittable with medication.
I was inspired by the compassion and love shown by LGBTQIA+ people and their allies during those difficult times, including Ruth Coker Burks, who cared for men dying of AIDS in the 80s and 90s and even buried some of them in a cemetery when their own families abandoned them.
Unfortunately, we’re seeing a similar hate mirrored today in anti-transgender laws, don’t say gay bills, injustices faced by intersex people and the epidemic of violence faced especially by Black and brown transgender women. Though it’s important to remember there is always light in the darkness—helpers who shine like angels, organizations fighting for equal rights and every person who chooses to act out of love over hate. This poem is dedicated to the helpers—may their light always shine brighter than the darkness.
Thank you for reading this poem and choosing to show love and compassion.
—beau j frail