Torn Branch
by Charles Kell
Out of tune piano whiskey
wet. His name on my inside
pocket. We drove
a black Cutlass down
Brosius Road watching
the leaves burn blue.
Turned my head & he was gone.
Promised his mother I’d stop & visit after
the funeral. Talk about all
of those years I kept the torn branch
he gave me one night
deep inside Nelson’s Ledges.
It’s on my bookcase
now. I could grab it, drive back
to Ohio, race down Brosius Road
to Mark’s mother’s trailer,
knowing he is gone forever,
yet there’s his face when I close
my eyes, right hand gripping
the wheel. Left clenched pocketed
in a fist, touching his name.