No explanation
necessary. Introverts
go to parties
willingly. Sip
ice water and talk
about moving, spitting
images, where to buy
parkas, breaking
glass. Sip more
and slip out the only
door before
fireworks take
over the sky.
Month: July 2014
Another Friend Who Misses Her Dad
Her quiet presence
looms long
and lean—a shadow
cast nearing civil
twilight. Forty years
since she’s stood
before or beside
me, and still
I remember her
long hair the color
of unground coffee
beans. Her bangs. The fresh
laundered scent
she would leave behind
as she rode off on
her banana seat
bicycle through those wooded trails
behind our row
of houses. Some whispers
echo longer
into silver brilliance
than any shrill yelp
of a peacock at large.
Bolt
The color
pink speaks out
of turn, interrupts red
with a white streak
of thought
grenades. It rains.
Lightning decorates
the lilac sky. Waiting
for a serious dose
of thunder—there is
no blue.
The 17th
Bodies falls
from the sky, fingers
point, half-written
stories burn, no duende
has a chance
to spark with death
already landed.
Twelfth of Never Mind
Always gives
her pause. She starts
and stops love
affairs on summer ones. That young
man who touches her
hair and cheek
in a dream she had
on this month’s 12th
has nothing
to do with her
imagination. And the green fairy
isn’t always green. She knows this
without taking a sip.
Could Have Been Foss
She might become a square foot
gardener. Her beds
raised and compact, she tends
to her slopes
as intensely as she used to
roll down them.
No One Can Claim Me
Was that you
who almost ran
over me
with your bicycle
wheeling down France?
Were you thinking
of hitting me? I get lost
in the suburbs
on warm weekend afternoons
when no one’s
looking. Did you realize
you might be touching
the unclaimed?
Summer 1983
Her summer
of lust. She used up more
dances on her dance card
(and drink tickets)
that season than most do
in decades. Ran out
of both years ago. Now
she can dance
and run and drink
water from outdoor fountains
all by herself.
No More Reunion
Lakes recede
to reveal
what we were thinking
before it
all began. You listened
so well, retained
everything, convinced me
to run
not always solo.
Geothermal energy
not wind power
you argued. I know nothing
about robotics, even less
about how to fathom
your mysterious exit. What
am I supposed to do
with that fact? You won’t
be returning to explain.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 