Kathy Nelson: “Portrait of My Mother, 1940”
PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER, 1940
You’re taking that single breath between girl and woman—
the ripening plum of your mouth, the first sign of softness
above the narrow velvet ribbon of your empire waist.
White crinoline and ruffles. Scuffed Mary Janes.
In your pupil’s green, a guarded gleam.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFrom your bed,
in the feral nights, you hear the rising weather of voices.
You’re a conscript in their never-ending war, a weapon
forged from your mother’s rage, your father’s pocket flask.
On the photographer’s stool, long-fingered hands
artfully posed—what’s natural, and what’s made to seem—
your chin tilted, turned just so, like one accustomed
to heeding every muffled plaint, every creak and groan.
A statue in your glass prison, you practice the major,
minor scales. No one hears you. No one even knows.
Kathy Nelson, recipient of the James Dickey Prize and Nevada Arts Council Fellow, is author of The Ledger of Mistakes (Terrapin Books) and two previous chapbooks. Her work appears in About Place, Five Points, New Ohio Review, Tar River Poetry, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Verse Daily, and elsewhere.