I weep
each time I hear
my favorite Beatle
who has been gone too long—we don’t
forget.
Month: February 2014
Library
In bars, on street corners, along
green hill campuses, in dark
corners beneath
office towers, on trains, beside
zoos, buried deep
below backyards, above a murder
of crows, in the palm
of her hand.
Listening to Dr. Dog on the Radio
What if
you never had a broken
heart—no, wait,
I mean bone. What if?
And no stitches
after the wisdom
teeth were pulled. But
back to the heart. Take
care not to break
your soul—those of you
who know
where to find yours.
November 22, 1963: Where Were You?
Fifty years. Before
my time—barely. I was born
into a country
in mourning. Would never
know an innocence
once claimed. Never
know a world without
that eternal flame. Would never
hear that voice, that particular brand
of Boston accent live.
Sixteen grief-stained days
shy of being able to say:
“I was there.”
February 14
The date
rings a bell
in her head. That pattern
of flowers spilled on the street was
heart-shaped.
In Forgetful Snow
Say something
out of bounds. Whisper
prose. Forget
how many lines
are leftover. Make some
more in the cold
night air. February
isn’t as cruel
as April, is it, Mr. Eliot?
Northern
She believes in triangles—
would rather not
triangulate. Hates crowds,
loves New York. Sees
no contradiction. The third
sister balances
textures with the sound
of a quarter moon
hitting the February sky
over Loring Park. What lies between
Minnesota and New England
are all the stories
she has left
to tell.
Wadsworth Falls, CT
Where was she
when they were giving
out licenses? Which daydream
distracted her
from motorized
vehicles? Which water
fall, where did
the trail go? Sitting beneath
one with him naked
decades ago, she didn’t
really care. Pistol
factories, textile mills, flume
or sluiceway is all that remains.
As if she could return.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 