Day 1,083

for Majd Alkurd

By the time you arrived
at the hospital, your uncle
was dead. Killed
for sitting and drinking coffee
with friends. Killed
because he was talking,
eating bread. By the time
you arrived, others
were bending over
his body. Friends.
Neighbors. You looked
for his smile, strained
to be able to hear his voice.
But your uncle was wrapped
in a white shroud.
You touched his beard,
his forehead. His skin,
already losing the heat
of this world.
No longer the uncle
who walked with you,
who warned you not
to use the flashlight
on your phone
if you were out at night.
who welcomed guests
at family parties. Now
he’s being welcomed himself
into the company
of martyrs, the company
of the dead. Now
he will not be able
to take care of you,
nor of his own children.