I saw a boot at the Wall last night.
Just one boot, not a pair.
It stood tall amongst the flowers & letters that surrounded it.
It made me wonder who left it, why it was there, & what had happened to the other one.
The bottom was still caked in mud.
The shoelaces were broken and the heel was out of shape.
As the people slowly walked by, staring at the names
I could hear them talking in their hushed tones,
and once in awhile I'd hear a muffled sob.
As I stood, staring at that boot, I could feel someone behind me, watching too.
They must have realized what I was looking at.
They came up behind me and said,
"Miss, that boot belonged to my comrade,my brother and my friend.
He was KIA in 1969, taking a bullet for me.
His boot came off as they carried him to the chopper, I found it several days later.
I've kept it all this time, & always felt guilty about it.
He didn't deserve to die, he had a family back home.
It should have been my boot, not his."
I turned to him with tears in my eyes and said,
"I'm sorry about your friend, and I'm sure he would understand why you kept that boot for so long.
You wanted something to remember him by, and there's nothing wrong with that.
I'm sure he would've appreciated your going back to find it."
The man thought for a moment, then said, "Yes, you're right." And then he saluted the Wall, and walked away into the night.
When I returned the next day, the boot was gone and a note laid in its place.
It read, "Dear brother, I'm sorry it took me over 25 years to get to you. I wish that it was my boot instead of yours laying at the Wall."