A virtual affair they won’t
acknowledge face to face. Toe
to toe helpless
in July heat. Computer aided
breezes don’t count
especially when the sound
of shoed hooves against pavement
is on mute.
Civil Twilight or Dawn Poems
Excerpted
If I leave out day one,
I might forget
to laugh, might fade out
too young. If I skip
my namesake, the end
might never come. Couldn’t sacrifice
anything in the middle. Inside there,
I howl—humor or horror—
I howl again.
July One
If she plants the seeds
blended into the pulp
of that message I sent
ground, what
sprouts will be fewer syllables,
less energy spent
on transit. A garden poem
for those who prefer theirs
not so defined—simply Sweet
William Pinks, Rocket
Larkspur, Wallflower, Catchfly,
Five Spot,
English Daisy, Sweet
Alyssum, Lemon Mist, Spurned
Snapdragon, Blue
Flax, Black-
Eyed Susan.
Measure
Expectations for the long arm
of light to cradle her—better
yet jolt her—into a wider frame
can only lead to one thing:
disillusionment
that after tonight everything begins
to shrink. Or, there’s another one: relief
that summer is poised to stretch across
the best spills and spans.
Permanent Pause
Birthdays are present
tense even when the honoree is past
tense. In a year’s time,
I will surpass him in living
years. It’s a lie
that we can’t catch up
to, surpass, one another. I make
no predictions. Stand still could be
a quality of light
or shade of blue. I can see
only glare—no faces reflected
in the atrium wall, could be
a window if
you’re into that kind of thing.
Flat Iron
I may (dis)honor the memory
of our affair. No number
of lies will erase clouds
from a June sky. A man lies
in an empty garbage cart—the clean-up
crew waits for another festival
to end. Can a phone company’s window display
do justice to this first
skyscraper the City sent up
over itself? No one’s going to remember
I worked there too.
Cleveland Graffiti
Burned out, abandoned with warnings that exhale
on the stern facade. One letter per pane, tagger’s red
paint spells it out for me:
E L E V A T O R
S H A F T
D O N O T
E N T E R Never mind
the barbed wire fence, I
wasn’t planning to make that leap. The clock
on that shuttered Romanian community center across
the street reminds me
it’s 5:45 pm
same as last fall and the visit before that. Still there will be
more stairs to climb.
Post Memorial Day
Yesterday morning his brows, last
night armpit hair—adolescence breaks
opens my curiosity. Childless,
I take care not to steal
childhoods, not to smash
them against sea walls
to see what’s inside. Once
hormones begin to kick
in—give the boys the goods
to confound girls, other boys.
I get careless. No more promises
to make before civil twilight.
Curdled Notes
Every effort is a thing
to behold in shadow before night
ignites. To italicize
every thought is to shrink from particles
in my own breath. I’m not ready
to embrace new overexposures. To increase my own
leading could answer a few questions. Could be
justification. What’s left
will not be kerned.
City Twist
I saw worms everywhere curling
and pulsating across
the sidewalk the day before. Airport
terminal power mysteriously out
the day before. Seductive electricity
shreds after midnight
the day of. Morning showers
give way just long enough
to put me in a Sunday afternoon
trance. Those sirens have nothing
on us—cat and me—the moment
of. Just a few miles north
flattens. The day before
sinks to the muddy bottom
of puddles where urban legends
have drowned.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 