Manifesto
This is me mistaking bats for swallows.  
It’s a new story. This is me trying 
to change my mind. I’ve seen the door  
my family takes: my father,
my cousins, my uncle. Ends 
of rope, cold barrels gone hot & cold 
again in the hand. It is a shocking thing 
to know how possible finality can be:
the burden of it, weighing on backs.  
Look up: hear that cheeping that comes 
at dusk: focus on the sound of it: looking  
for direction, avoiding obstacles. 
There is no comfort in this.
This is me hoping to find something  
in the resurrection moss. How it clings 
to limbs that make arches over the roads  
that I drive. This is me leaving the nail 
in my tire. Filling my tire with air every ten days. 
This is me leaving again. I’m scared
to answer the phone. This is me falling in love  
with the northwest breeze on the right street, 
a leaf swirling to the ground, the sound  
of someone’s voice through something 
plastic. The creeping shapes in my dark yard.  
When they die they hurt us all. I’m worried 
I wouldn’t even do that. Here comes the heat  
again, brewing, pushing me into places. Here 
is my little motor. Tweaked and ticking. This is me  
looking up. This is me mistaking swallows for bats. 
Copyright © 2025 by Kelan Nee. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 10, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem started with sitting outside years ago at dusk with my girlfriend at the time. We were watching these little flying figures swoop down and couldn’t figure out if they were swallows or bats. Since then, that relationship ended, I moved to Texas, got sober, and the idea of swallows and bats stuck with me as some symbol of reversal and confusion. The poem came together as I tried to work through changes in my life, both self-initiated and otherwise, reckoning with losing people to death or distance, trying to find meaning in all of it and sometimes coming up short.”
—Kelan Nee
 
      