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.
Day Poems
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
Brimful
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.
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
mailboxes
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
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
Presbycusis
She translates the drip
better than the swish
of paint. Mosquito versus
human better than
mosquito alarms versus
congregating teens.
At what frequency
will they lose her?
Will she choose to give up
delicious solitude
for an evening inside
a crowded music venue?
She doesn’t hear
the answer. She sees
she’s got it all wrong.
The highest frequency
leaves a trail
of graffiti
along a sea wall
she has loved
more than water itself.
Grime Written
I will not use
elephant snot
to remove
the truth seeping
into our concrete
facades. I will not
scratch my way
into your heart.
Won’t turn
“Wash me”
into a mission
statement. I’m not
on a mission
after all.
That can’t be
my voice I hear
narrating this
poem prose poem
preamble. That’s not
the man
I pretend to hide
from when
another hot air
balloon crashes
against a sea wall.
And Martha Graham
dances to the end
of a branch
in this sketch.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 