Kathy Nelson
BEFORE I DIE
Some great uncle passed it down,
that curio, that heirloom, that tour de force—
seamless wooden links lifted from the branch,
whole, already interlocking, as if by magic,
with nothing but a pocketknife. Let me be
that whittled willow chain I lost.
Let me be that blue bird I gave away, the one
with white-tipped wings my mother kept
all her life—ceramic, not a chip or scratch.
Let me be the last letter from my father,
loping, looping letters across a lined legal pad.
Your mother and I miss you, we’re so glad
you’ll be home soon. Then—Better get this
to the box. Indeed. He did. May I be
remembered like the glacial lake in August,
twinning every cloud or like, in February,
firewood dry at the cabin door, or like
the pair of wool socks in the backpack
when the cotton ones are soaked and cold.
Let what I leave behind be easy to bear,
soft as the click-clack of that chain
turning in my palm. Let me be that light.
Published in MER 24.
Kathy Nelson, James Dickey Prize winner, MFA graduate of the Warren Wilson Program for Writers, and Nevada Arts Council grant recipient, is author of The Ledger of Mistakes (Terrapin Books, 2023). Her work appears in About Place; Five Points, a Journal of Literature and Art; Jacar One; New Ohio Review; Pedestal Magazine; Tar River Poetry, Valparaiso Poetry Review; Verse Daily and elsewhere.