Aida
I've never met the guy next door. I know
He's in there-mud-caked shoes outside to
dry,
The early evening opera, the glow
(Of candlelight?) his window trades for night—
I think he's ill, since once the pharmacy
Delivered his prescriptions to my door:
Acyclovir, Dilantin, AZT.
He doesn't go out running anymore.
I've heard that he's a stockbroker who cheats
A little on his taxes. Not in love,
They say—he seems to live alone. I eat
My dinner hovering above my stove,
And wondering. Why haven't we at least
Exchanged a terse hello, or shaken hands?
What reasons for the candlelight? His feet,
I'm guessing by his shoes, are small; I can't
Imagine more. I'd like to meet him, once—
Outside, without apartments, questions,
shoes.
I'd say that I'm in love with loneliness.
I'd sing like candlelight, I'd sing the blues
Until we'd finished all the strawberries.
We've never met, and yet I'm sure his eyes
Are generous, alive, like poetry
But melting, brimming with the tears he cries
For all of us: Aida, me, himself,
All lovers who may never meet. My wall—
As infinite and kind-faced as the wealth
Of sharing candlelight—it falls, it falls.
———
I am SO glad that I happened to stumble upon this gem. Such a lovely, poignant read. And, as a queer person with a similar Cuban-American background, I was really able to resonate with this. I also loved that the author is a doctor—getting to see the height of the AIDS crisis through his eyes was deeply impactful.