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  • Lhivros e Arthivismo


Existe um perfil no Instagram, chamado The Aids Memorial - @theaidsmemorial, no qual todos os dias eu entro e faço questão de ler as novas postagens, sempre emocionantes, de pessoas que prestam homenagens para familiares, companheiros, amigos, colegas que faleceram devido a complicações advindas da aids.

Recentemente, Peter Senko fez dois posts no perfil supracitado em homenagem ao seu irmão, David Serko, falecido em 1992. Em cada um deles, um poema em memória não só de David, mas também de todo o vivido nos seus últimos dias, em que familiares, o marido e os amigos velavam junto a ele aguardando o momento de sua passagem.


His IV machine’s hissing and ticking punctuating what passes for breath hiss, tick, tick, gasp over and over in a maddening dance

I weigh the karmic implications do I or don’t I, at what expense? a quandary of cosmic proportion so comic in the flesh

only me still standing awake, at the foot of this bed or am I sleeping dreaming all this?

if I’m to do it, now is my chance short step to the right three steps forward slight turn of the knob to the right a cascade of blessed relief for him or, is it me? a quandary of uncertain proportion so comic in the flesh

he’s staging this drama for certain I know it it would be just like him a final performance before adoring fans but, oh, he would not be happy with the hairdo!

exhausted, in protest, I yell out, “he is trying to kill us!”

hiss, tick, tick, gasp a quandary of comic proportion so uncertain in the flesh

Segue o link para o post em que está o poema:


I’m half asleep in the waiting room chair I can hear Ralph and Norton bickering in black and white on the TV Tim is stretched out awkwardly over two chairs, a blanket draped over his head

my dad suddenly appears in the doorway “Quick, I think this is it” he shouts then disappears we stagger to our feet and dash down the hallway, bursting through the double doors into his room I sit on side of the bed next to my mother who’s holding his hand

the spastic breathing of the long night displaced now by what must certainly be the “death rattle” without thinking I reach out and lay my hand on his chest over his heart

a last gasp, his chest rises and falls, my hand following, sinking as breath passes his lips A heartbeat barely felt, his body deflates under my hand

a smile comes to his face his hands lift from Eddie’s and my mother’s hands we cheer him on

I feel the warmth of life depart in an instant a startling cold how fragile and fleeting the line between life and death the warmth of who we are, what we are, sustained by our beating heart.

Segue o link para o post em que consta o segundo poema:

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