Vestido Azul

I wear one
when you find me
standing left
of center
in an American ruin.
Revived. The color
and fabric
ground me
as I wait
to ascend
36,000 feet
in the air.
The sky is
blue as
I have
ever seen it.

scratch that

if I were brave, I would stop
this / now

I would begin
writing with spray paint
or glue or chalk
or a fingertip

running across
a dirty window / pieces
of plywood / clapboard / welcome
mat nailed together

for an hour or two
if I were brave

I would dance
without music
and keep
perfect time


Then one morning
Alice awakes
to discover
she has grown
irrelevant overnight.

No amount
of social media posts
will reverse
the condition.

Alice being Alice,
she takes her irrelevant
ass to the margins

where she will live
widely unencumbered
in a cloud of white space.

Voice Under There

The narrator rarely interrupts
the steady drip
of poems
into a tin can.

So unreliable.
She would need
to empty the can
before calling in

the next turn
or swerve
in the plot. Before
whispering details

about the secret
tragedy that will liver
punch the hero
before nightfall.

She would need
to have a hero
to intrude upon
without warning.

She’s got nothing
but this piece

of string pulled taut
and an echo
of tomorrow’s rain
vibrating through.

Darken the Dooryard

This thaw has
nothing to do
with Valentine’s Day
or the ones
that immediately follow.

In a dream,
I immediately follow
a misguided instinct
right down
your cellar steps.

I become
a stalker
your sister finds
cowering beneath
a neglected house plant.

Nothing thaws
in the dream.

Nothing compares
to the look

on her face
as she whispers
get out
before my brother
comes home.

sunk relief

not snowing
her cold smile
preserves the space
between empty

their maws frozen
half open

it’s not optimism
that makes her
think so

the smashed rock
glass was
swept off
the bedroom
floor years ago

that she can’t
remember who
held the broom
or the color
of the eyes

that followed
its strokes

that she does
remember the whiskey’s
deep leather hue

that hinge
between alcoholic
palimpsest and
the minor key
that traps images

inside vivid
ghost craters

does not
rust in
this bitter air

Come join Amy Nash and friends in an evening of poetry and jazz at the Black Dog Coffee and Wine Bar


Jazz Word Jazz at the Black Dog Coffee and Wine Bar

Saturday, February 13, 2016
7 pm – 11 pm

Broken Link to the Canon

The time
it takes to recite
all the epigraphs
on all the buildings
aligning the streets
within the city
in her dreams
is time

she won’t waste
trying to reinvent
your eyes,
your lips,
the way
you say
good-bye without
a word.

Groundhog Day Blizzard

then the snow
then 400 car crashes
then one pedestrian
run over dies
then empty streets
then all quiet
except for the wind
as it rattles tarps
covering the half-built
then first names
only then no one
sees the sun set