The S slipped
or becomes
silent a month before
the Green Line begins
service between the two
cities. Crosses the river
in light rail stitching.
She saw the test train return
to the larger downtown
this morning. Her faith
in imperfection runs
parallel to
coincidence and letters
that sometimes drop
off without warning.
A set of keys
left in the freezer, another
in the palm
of her hand. Doors
open on contact
in her dream. And the lover
(there’s always a lover)
she’s about to
wake to
jangling metal
is strangely
familiar.
Some days all I can feel is
my father’s handshake. Called a vise
grip by more than one old
beau. An addiction to finger exercises
he did while running
every morning. They kept my own
hands occupied
in the early weeks after quitting
those smokes
he hated viciously. And I still practice
them now that I have returned
to the road and to fight
back tears. No matter how many sets
I do, memories are all that’s left. And the way
they left his mind
too soon.
Born between
the UK and US
release of the Beatles’
“I Want
to Hold Your Hand,”
she never knew
life before rock
‘n’ roll. Buds on a few
trees—a week
of rain has a disturbed
purpose. She has been
loved this early
in May. Parades with gigantic
puppets have not
been a good sign. Or,
no message to read
at all. It won’t
storm tomorrow.
Here is
my note to self
to remember to soar
just a little more gracefully
each day.
Dare to
schedule a massage,
board a train
headed east, look
up while passing beneath
a balcony, remember
who she hitchhiked with
the last time
she did it—dared
to be
so young, that is.
Sometimes it snows
in April. Sometimes
it’s too soon
for any new
life to begin. Better
before anything stirs. Better
to be an addendum
to winter than a mutation
to spring.
If you can’t think
of anything, put the cap back
on. Don’t let it dry up
for good. To be
too poised is poison. That opening
in the woods
where you veered
off the path is the true
hinge to it. Don’t forget
to swing without occasion.
When she spills
a cup
of tea
in the same
place at the same
time twice
in one week,
she knows
her body’s not
done yet. And
it may rain.
Freezing
fog come morning.
Then unbelievable
sunshine shakes the river and falls
awake.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 