A red door
in a basement
is someone’s memory
of her father. Removed
from the must
and toad populated
puddles beneath
the stair, it still hinges
on a human hand
to be moving.
Danish teak
furniture had nothing
to do with it.
Afternoon Poems
Traveling Lighter in Increments
A cold spell snaps
into the first
heat wave
of the season. Which season?
An approach
by air
rather than
by sea
could open
those island gates
she has been eyeing
for as long
as she has been walking
without a crutch.
Depot Upper Deck
A spider
plant clings
to her
hair then lets
go. Up wooden
stairs to a higher
viewing ground. Buds
to become
leaves. Then
go off
while she waits
for the right
words to compress
into a pot
for later
use. Wanders
across borders
with dirt
sculpted into
velvet vignettes
with small tails.
Minnesota Spring Breaks
This is
finally it—
tiny green buds begin
to break along most tree branches.
So poised.
Eight Months
While dreaming,
our number
transforms into
a symbol
that gives
permission to go
on forever. One
sprawling figure
eight
through the seasons. But
it turns out
8 is not ∞
You have stopped
counting as I build momentum.
Grief can’t be quantified.
I must resort
to art as I carry you
with me on and off
the trace.
Dragnet Debris
With original denim
colored eyes
still seeking,
she puts her obsession with death
of punk music
to rest. Silent influences
to speak of
alone together. Another sip
of a double shot
espresso in a true demitasse
cup to stay—
and so she loves
more than one city
these days. No ranking. Even in April
sleet and slush, she leans
toward jean not leather
jackets. But still leather
boots over canvas flats.
Another One for the First City I Loved
Swan boats
Arthur Fiedler
Logan Sumner Tunnel
The Phoenix Newbury Comics
Fenway
How To Be Second Choice
Grace. A chess game indoors
could have been outside in
spring snow if it was
a bigger place
with more pocket parks. But here
everything stays
insulated. A punk jabbing
at the inside mechanisms
of my mind. In a dream,
the old New York employer
has all but shutdown. An empire
of books gets streamlined. Everyone
has moved
on. Even those who haven’t
when I wake will be gone.
2711 Aldrich Avenue South
Still bare from a long winter, my favorite
tree has grown
crazier than I remember. One wildly long branch
reaches across the street
to shake hands with its fellow elder
on the block. Just one
south of the CC Club. I never enter
that darkness anymore. Someone leaves
a black teapot on top
of a recycle bin—yes or no? Do it.
Knock it in. Everything
deserves a second chance.
Who Says April Is
Somewhere someone
decided this is our
month. As if all
the told slant
truths might bloom
simultaneously in a city
garden bed. Everyone’s talking
about getting wisdom
teeth pulled
today. From some non-euphoric
recall, I see nothing
poetic about it
save the prescription
for codeine
I couldn’t afford
to get filled.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 