Sick Leave
by Sid Gomez Hildawa

Like a patch of skin spared
from sunburn by a shield
of cloth or sunblock lotion,
there’s a rectangle on the wall
lighter than the wall itself
where a painting used to hang.
Now that the artwork is gone,
visitors ask, “What used to be there?,”
and “What was it about?,”
as if they hadn’t seen the piece before,
or maybe not carefully enough.
‘Wasn’t there a woman seated
in a café?, Didn’t she have a glass
of wine, or some company?,”
The damp ground, eavesdropping,
almost shifts, holding up the house
whose wall holds up a rusty nail
in its perpetual upturned pose,
holding up no answer.

On my fourth day in hospital
with dextrose feeding me twenty
drops a minute, I picture in my mind
a space I may have left behind,
not entirely empty, but of air
made thinner by my absence,
or of lighter tissue,
so that people pause, inquire,
and imagine what used to be there.

“So where’s the painting now?”

Reprinted from Sid Hildawa Gomez' blog. This was a November 11, 2007 post–a poem written in reference to Juan Luna’s painting “Parisian Life.” He wrote this piece in the hospital while recuperating from an illness. He died four months later in March 2008 of another illness. Sid's blog has since been deleted.

© Sid Gomez Hildawa (1962-2008)

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