I Am

I Am


As I lay down in feathered sheets and mossy pillows,
I lie awake and stare, just stare out the window watching
the blistering moon count sapphire stars, and as Jupiter
winks at Mars, I am aware that I'm still alive. The heart
beats -- pa dump, pa dump -- and my arms and festering
legs respond as I wiggle my fingers and toes.

I wasn't supposed to be here, the sly virus having raided
innocent T4 cells, who were supposed to respond in kind,
but instead died maliciously by the raging sickness within.
Six months, the doctors had said, and I had nodded, stunned
into silence, watching the woolen world melt away
into sunless days and starless nights, as silken soil
was poured upon my sullen carcass, unmoving, unmoving.
I fade into reality as the polite physician tells me about nutrition,
the value of vitamins and minerals that would extend
my tremulous life for a short while. Maybe I should take
up smoking, I think unflinching.

There is no cure, still no cure, but twenty-four yearning
years later, I am still here. I won't kid you by saying
the journey was completely worth the brittle moments
and bitter tantrums, but parts of it have been beautiful.
I came out about this viligent virus to my parents,
my palpable fear overwhelming me, so afraid of raging
rejection. The truth is, in the end, we became closer.
Dad, now gone, was the first to be told the news, followed
by my weeping mother who called me as I remained solid,
informing her that the new cocktail would change
Western medicine. She stopped crying. Relief flooded me.

The gift I was granted, that I earned, was the be here,
be present, and to remain grateful. I try this for moments
of time, and sometimes succeed. When I do, I feel proud.
I'm alive; I'm here. A special thanks to my therapist,
who helps dismantle the nonsense layer by layer by layer.
It's not the luscious life I had planned, but it is the life
that unfolded like a budding daffodil in Spring,
and the journey is the journey, a jungle amidst solid concrete,
a way to unravel unsavory misconceptions, to heal,
to take my rightful place among the living.

I am alone, always alone, but I stand amongst others
who also feel alone, not lonely, following their pomegranate
paths, to a ripe, fruitful future. I am. I am. I am.