Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.


The third piece about the 80's HIV crisis. It's been weird writing about this stuff and has brought up some awful memories. I guess this can be seen as 'therapy' or 'exorcism,' then. This recounts the moment when my friend Jared returned home after diagnosis. In his mind, he had ceased being human and spent the next few days screaming, crying and destroying pretty much everything in the house. 


I try to be aunty comfort
but he brings out the bells
and the catholic blood
and himanimalwail


It’s all I can do to decipher 
the grunts from the cuts 
in his gut and the salt 
oceans that rain from   
his gopping muzzle
as himanimalwail


His canine shriek pulls 
the shag from the rise 
and  the tread, wallpaper 
from the stud and plaster
and nothing makes sense
so himanimalwail


when he runs out of breath
and with soft gulps
and glottal clacks
he whispers about how 
he ran with the herd, 

how  he ran when 
he heard the three letters 
and a crucifix 
that now defined him
and himanimalwail


Soft on my shoulder
he sleeps for a while 
but in his dreams


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This entry was posted on August 4, 2022 by in creative writing, Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Prose, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , .
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