Comments about Bonnie Moore
“Mom, I have AIDS.”
Her sallow pale face stares up at me.
Her sad childish eyes beg me for help.
Her shoulders fall into her frail body
As she slowly sinks into a mournful sigh.
“Make it better, please make it go away.
You always know what to do and say.
You can because you love me and you
Take care of me. I don’t want to die.”
She is the fragile infant in my arms.
She is the toddler scraping a tender knee.
She is the child with a broken doll
That I now clutch to my aching heart.
“My doctor says there is a new medicine
That has just ...