Kunu

I grasped a calloused hand

And held back a bitter tear

Half-exposed out of the corner

Of my almond-shaped eyes.

He told me to leave him alone,

As he fought the nurses he

exhaled a few choice words

That hung from his parched

And sober lips like a breath

In frigid air half frozen in space;

Emotionless, indifferent.

His body was brittle, but his

Apache soul was as fierce and

ruthless as Geronimo, and as stubborn

As a mule with an assortment of

Battle wounds upon his skull-

Concealed by white and grey

Feathers of hair, while his lungs were

expelling toxins from years passed-

the tiresome lungs, fresh and clean

with pure air that tried so

ferociously to heal-

I looked around at the army of hearts

lined up like toy soldiers eager for the

warrior to pull through. Some crying

and some chanting, the void filled with

memories and happy thoughts. I looked

into his eyes which were more sullen than mine,

shallow and aged, Irises showed years of

wisdom and hardship

They opened a little, only

To return my stare.

-He asked if I loved him, and

I told him I do, as

I admired the strength of this man,

The mutated knuckle

-if you would call it a knuckle-

on his right hand, swollen and bulky,

From sliding into second in

His prime years. I spent a week

With this man, a man that I barely knew,

wishing that time would stand still,

if only for an instant longer.

I dreaded the moment when his

Hand would grow limp, and his

Breath would fall short, I didn’t get

To build many memories but

From the week I got to spend with

This man, I know I have his

Stubborn soul and his gentle

Heart, So I tuck away these moments

Like a book on a shelf waiting

To come to life on a perfect

Rainy day, tell him I love him

A kiss of the forehead,

And a goodbye.