A Broken Frame

The photograph has no date,

but these are my long-ago kin,

ancestors just before the boat,

six stone-faced on the English shore,

sepia on cardstock under glass

still clear in severe, dark clothes

except one who has been marked

out, maybe with black wax,

which runs to the bottom corner

where the frame is cracked.

Did he die in transit, get lettered

for adultery on that long crossing,

gamble away starting-over money,

or was he the child they could no

longer bear, the ruin of the family?

The one who kissed other boys,

should have been left behind,

whose black ghost gave up

the dream, slipped out of the picture

through a broken place, a sliver.

– Collin Kelley

forthcoming in Render