Poem for Chris Branch

I met him
on a bus full of poets
in Baltimore

Funny guy, long
fellow always trying
to stretch out and sleep

in those cramped seats
with his cowboy hat pulled down
as low as it would go

Knew him for
five whole days
before the night

we argued about medications
outside a Boston club
Leaning against the wall

he told me he’d never agree
to take them
if it meant losing his poetry

I told him I’d rather
lose the poetry and keep
him alive

My bracelet matched his tattoo
I gave it to him
He hugged me and tugged

a woven silver ring
from his finger
and set it on mine

It was too big
I wore it
on my thumb

Several years later
while scouring the Web
I came across the news

that he’d hanged himself
a few months before
I dug out the ring

that now fit my fatter hand
I wear it still
on the nights

when I’m on stage
and feeling a rope
might fit me better

I wear your ring, Chris

I did not know you well enough
to bear your legacy
just well enough to remember it

Weary of its weight tonight
I remember
you had a son

One of these days I’ll find him
Give back the ring
Tell him the little I knew of his father

How you wore your hat
How you wore your ring
How you snored for miles and miles

Gentle on stage
Played a wooden flute
Hugged a stranger when it seemed right

I did not know you well
but I still have your ring
When I take it off for the last time

and hand it to your son
I will tell him of my promise to myself
that I will never learn your final secret

of how it feels
to let the man go
and leave the poetry behind