Hummingbird

Purple frosting,

golden “Congratulations” balloons,

seventy people crammed into two rooms

smooth skin in a sea of wrinkled.

I’m lost.

Can I get one last squeeze? Can we just joke around?

What if you don’t come back home the same?

Will you be the same?

The same boy who used to carry around a bright red rocket,

The one who cry when our parents left for dinner,

the one I used to comfort.

The one with extra soup cans for the girl who forgot at school.

The sweet little boy who never took off the fireman jacket.

I guess you always wanted to be a hero,

you noticed the crying men on the day of planes and fire and smoke in September.

You cared. Even back then.

We’re different. You’re strong.

I hope they don’t break you. Don’t let them.

I’m selfish, I don’t want you to go away. But it’s what you

Want.

I hope you love it. I don’t understand it.

Yelling, dirt, guns, tobacco, but you’re so tired.

I’m tired of missing you.

Go fight. Go learn to fight.

A trained killer?

No, ha, that’s not my brother.

I look again. Your eyes blue. Can those eyes kill?

Maybe.

But you cried when you killed the hummingbird. Remember?

The day in the backyard when we’d play battle.

Will you go to war?

Mitch, I’m scared.

Not of goodbye, but what’s after goodbye. Where will they send you?

Sand or snow?

I hope it’s snow.

I hope you are happy there.

But don’t change. I don’t think you will.

Will you promise me something?

Nevermind,

it’s a promise you can’t keep.

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Cover Photo by Alice Castro. Edited by Madison Case.