Deborah Marshall
They Are We; Us, Them
after Bob
A disenfranchised
pagan, straight, white hag knows squat
about World AIDS Day’s
anniversary.
3 a.m. insomnia
recollects fragments:
Fearing exposure
at Dignity’s soup kitchen
my friend quit serving
meals to the homeless
at the Arlington Street Church,
made meatballs from home.
Then June ’88,
I fractured at The Castle
viewing The Names Quilt.
A vast sea of graves,
The AIDS Memorial Quilt:
leather, photos, names,
sequins, badges, toys;
panels 3 feet by 6 feet
of love, mourning, fear.
A tsunami swelled
of ungrieved, unresolved
pain and loss.
Ms. Social Justice
at 35, pestered sponsors,
marched for AIDS walks.
Then, Paper Prayers,
the Boston Pediatric
AIDS Project funder.
Tom Grabosky and
Howard Yezerski joined
spirits of giving.
A 4 by 12 inch
artwork for a donation.
Prayer wallpaper.
I painted more strips,
pushed my artsy friends, children,
church to donate.
I wore red ribbons.
Black, white and red all over.
Serviam challenge!
When in doubt, grad school.
Hospice and substance abuse
internships. Psych jobs.
Art as therapy.
Your choice: to die using or
in recovery.
Biohazard bags.
Universal precautions.
Needle-stick scares.
To heal, but not cure.
Detox, shelters, home visits
for twenty plus years.
I salved some, saved none.
Now retired, my grandkids
and I collect cans
for the food pantry,
write sympathy cards for pets,
adopt rescued dogs,
and “practice kindness.”
Infected with meaning, I
continue to heal.
Deborah Marshall, aka Nana Boots, is a grandmother and visual artist. A retired art therapist, she is a writer and photographer whose poems and images are derived from life experiences. She spends her nights with her spouse and their boxer, Frances.