Day Poems
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.
White Space
Time out
chairs in corners
of a widening room
beckon her to retrieve those lost
daydreams.
11 Years and Counting
This day
encapsulates
my endless gratitude
for each moment I get to live
sober.
Runner’s High Cinquain
And so
as predicted
she becomes addicted
to all the drugs her body can
produce.
Riding Through
Row and rows
of Indiana
corn was my first
real poem. According
to someone
who should know. Did she
really know
what I meant?
Did I? I did—
the ruts from banana
seat bicycle
tires remain.
Day 4,004 Odyssey
Her journey
beyond his
predicting the world
will end breaks
down moments
before she sees
a pigeon die
in the street. Before
Americana loses
its eighth
meaning. But not before
she gets to dance
away his blues
on a boulevard. Cut
down the middle,
she would never murder
rabbits in anyone’s
garden. And he can
respect that—even if
he owns a gun.
Aftermath
Whoever murders
jack-o-lanterns
who are you
supposed to be? Is that mask
removable or
were you born
mean? Nothing
scarier than
a question
save a clown.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 