The Old Indian

His eye
His sad, sad right
eye.  The left,
he lost in the war-
fighting for his people.
It was a long, long time
ago.  He was younger
then, and believed
in everything.

Now there is nothing left
to fight for, and he's not even sure
that he was right.

The wooden beam of his home
            (the tree he axed and heaved and hewed
            with his two strong hands)
Now holds him up.

He ponders the past, those days of conviction,
        when the blood of his veins raged for revenge.

Now he hopes simply to live another day.

One eye missing
One button missing
One thumb missing

He's lost so many things, but gained others --
      wrinkles,
                         scars,
                                        gray hairs.

It's so difficult to smile.