my uncle
and godfather
told stories
better than many
his body
told its own

hector's arms
lined with red traces
of blood work
and scabbed belly
it was made clear
to me that
dialysis
is never kind

my tio hector
had tattoos
he got in his youth
of a syringe
and a lamp
he used to rub
when he played the numbers

my tio
and padrino
hector
wore dentures
he would make them
jump from his mouth
and chase me
across the room
his smiles were the kindest
when toothless

he had a round belly
that would sit on the table
when he played cards
or dominoes
and had a laugh
of its own

my uncle hector
had hands
the size of thanksgiving
he would rest them
on my head
when we watched t.v.

his laugh
came from lungs
made rough and warm
by decades of cigarettes
in their sickness
they became
infectious

my tio hector
loved beer
and gambling
and nicotine
and lazy saturdays
he also loved
his wife
his children
his grandchildren
and his dogs

my uncle hector
abused his body
and never blamed anyone
serene and accepting
his body gently betrayed him
in the end
but his eyes
stayed true

my uncle hector
had wonderfully warm
and reassuring eyes
that outlasted
the rest of him
when he finally
left us

his eyes
are still here
and
they still
break
my heart