Preservationist [American sonnet in American sentences]
for WD
what do you call a man, old, unmarried and outliving his children?
do you call him, do you let him send your children his old belongings?
I know he doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, it’s just
he lives alone there, no heirs, with a library of biology
guides to spiders, venomous snakes of Tennessee, wildlife of the south
every week they arrive mummified in packing tape and grocery bags
estate sale preemption, keepsakes widowed into the arms of strangers
he sends each book wrapped more tightly than the last, handwriting unraveled
to index card, thumbprint smudge notarized, legacy the task at hand
let the kids lay into it, their excitement breaking safety scissors
this is the natural order of things, this is the future, this is it
I saw him on the news, nearly eighty, snatching a timber rattler
shirtless in the woods, all tendons and lightning and ferocious smile
he said, preserving a habitat means caring for the hard to love
*
Edie Meade is a writer in Petersburg, Virginia. Recently published in Room Magazine, Invisible City, The Harvard Advocate, JMWW, The Normal School, and Litro.
Twitter: @ediemeade
Instagram and Threads: @edie_thee_meade
From The Archives: Published on This Day
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Powerful poem. …keepsakes widowed into the arms of strangers/ is amazing, and the rest of the poem, wow, such a unique perspective on the arc of life and legacy. Beautiful form for this poem, incredible ending…!
That final, brilliant image of sinewy life and the Natural conclusion unmistakable!