I.
The Gay Men’s Health Crisis sign
waves proudly in the breeze.
The mailing’s in full swing.
Keith Haring posters everywhere,
men and women
talking over each other,
snacks and drinks.
Reminds me of a Yearbook meeting
except April, Dylan and I
are the only teenagers.
I wonder if any of these people
have children of their own.
I’m in charge of sticking address labels
on postcards.
I lay them out alphabetically,
pull them off delicately,
careful not to rip.
April licks the stamps.
Dylan stacks the postcards in messy piles,
shoos me away
when I start straightening them,
laughs, says don’t even think
of micromanaging me.
April smiles.
II.
James knows everyone here.
Like he’s in charge,
keeping things organized,
pouring Coke,
sneaking April extra Doritos.
Dylan talks about his cousin,
now suffering with pneumonia.
James shows us proofs
for new safe sex ads
for the buses and subways, asks
for our “youthful opinion.”
As if James is so old?
April tells me James is here
almost all the time
when he’s not teaching,
playing music,
caring for Dad.
I think about how our lives don’t just overlap
with other people’s, but how
inside each person
we are
so many selves
all at once.