I do not look like the moon’s reflection atop a river.
But one night
walking along Minnesota’s piece of the Mississippi
I watched that worn image for a while, a long
while, closing my eyes, opening my eyes,
closing my eyes until I saw a pearl
from my grandmother’s burial necklace
just sort of dangling there.
My mother,
who shares the same birth name as her mother,
mentioned only once
that she can’t seem to bring herself
to visit her anymore.
It is strange, she said, It is strange
seeing etched across a gravestone
your own name
just sort of dangling there.
Nathan D. Metz (he/his) is a writer living in the Bay Area of California. His work has been featured in The Racket, Hawaii Pacific Review, Zaum and other great journals. He has received scholarships/fellowships from the Elk River Writers Workshop, Canterbury Program, and the AHA.