No more
excuses left—
Saint Paul here she comes now
riding the Green Line LRT
at last.
Author: Arambler
Don’t Take a Souvenir Cinquain
Flashing
red and white light
above wild clay cliffs
will fade to memory without
rescue.
Past Winter Solstice
Two days into shrinking
night, photos get touch
screen silently taken
in the clouds. Who visits
the creation museum? A myth
is born. A 25-year-old
portrait painting comes alive
in a child’s arms. This rip
in the canvas
is an evolution.
False Analogy
A ladder
back chair will
not push her
to hit a glass
ceiling with the tip
of her tongue. Without progressive
lenses, she can see
how life unfolds
in phases
of another
planet’s moon. Or two.
Architects toss out the best
words—another
year passes
successfully inside
a found poem.
Fifty Plus
A week across
the border—no
turning back and
all other clichés
come true
beneath a mistletoe
she doesn’t
stand beneath. Her kisses
are not
parasites. Her infatuation
gets nourished
from within.
Lip
He sees
structure in her
she might destroy again
without his voice’s midnight calm
to soothe.
Sandy Hook Light
Too Cold for a Parade
Diamond dust drifts
vertically through air. Sun
dogs will wag
their tails to defy
her resignation
to frown on these shrunken
days. Sixteen more
before they begin
to expand again. Who
needs a float?
Decoding
Even getting to Q
would be more
than she imagined. More than
she could taste
when she licks
stamps for those envelopes
filled with naïve
dreams. Some evaporate
for good without a trace. Others
come true
for a while before turning
into nightmares. And some
hold other positions
in the alphabet
she can’t make out yet.
Thank You
For this
chance to see gifts
everywhere I breathe.
Everything is poetry
today.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 