Things That Remained
There was only a little confusion left in his breath,
cheap whiskey had dried up nearly everything but
the stale taste of her name.
So, he spoke it.
The small boy inside,
the one with the bruised cheeks
and chubby lobes.
The quiet one.
The one that had nothing but love, for everyone.
In that moment, he was revived. He reached out.
For his friend.
But she was across town.
She wouldn't recognize his voice anyhow,
she had never met this boy.
She had only seen the scruffy,
clench jawed face of the man that
boy had become.
The broken spirit
and bitter joy.
The drunk.
The anxious.
The shattering facade.
He lights a cigarette and looks to the sky,
wondering if she'd answer the phone.
What she would say?
Is there anything left to say?
He decides that there is.
It's the only words willing to brave
the journey. The only truth that remains.
"I'm sorry."
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment