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    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.     

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