For Daniel and Serge

Sunday snow falls in the Carolinas,
on a cold silent morning.
Barely out of my bed,
I anticipate the warmth of strong coffee,
and the summoning of my dormant senses.
The phone rings, piercing the silence,
like tones of a wind chime
borne on cold air through woodlands,
so quiet otherwise
that one could hear the snowflakes
as they touch down.

I, not yet awake, grasp the receiver.
"Hello," I say.
"Allô...Ron?"
"Oui,"
I squeeze out tentatively,
not knowing to whom I speak
and not expecting to need my French
on a snowy Carolina Sunday morning.

"Qui est-ce?" I ask.
"C'est Serge...Ecoute.
Daniel nous a quitté."

I think to myself
that this is strange.
Serge calls to tell me
that Daniel has left.
I think of lover’s quarrels,
and wonder why Serge would bother
calling from Brussels with such news.

"Quand?"
"When?" I ask.
"Vendredi."
Still confused, I ask how he left.

"A l'hôpital."

"Oh, Serge…
Je suis désolé."
So very sorry,
I now understand that Daniel has died.
"From what?" I ask.
"Comme toi" I hear Serge say.
"AIDS?" I ask. "SIDA?"
"Oui...
I must go.
He would have wanted you to know."

"And you?" I ask.
"I am fine, but must go.
Bye."

Click.

A        dial             tone
signals        the               end
       of           conversation
 as       the      snow             outside
     continues     to                              fall
   with                        reverent                quietness.

Copyright 2004 by Ron Hudson. Previously appeared in Roger Hume's Other Voice Poetry International, vol. 5.

Categories: poetry HIV/AIDS