He sees
structure in her
she might destroy again
without his voice’s midnight calm
to soothe.
Poetry
Amy Nash will be participating in a poetry reading Saturday, November 9th, at SubText Bookstore in Saint Paul
PUBLICATION READING
SubText Bookstore, 165 Western Avenue No., St. Paul, MN
7 PM., Saturday, November 9th, 2013
FREE & OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
Poetry, essays about Home
Featured readers include Jill Breckenridge, Tami Mohamed Brown, Wendy Brown-Baez, James Cihlar, Alice Owen Duggan, Margaret Hasse, Molly Sutton Kiefer, Linda Kantner, Julie Landsman, Amy Nash, Ellen Shriner, Cary Waterman, Karen Herseth Wee, Miriam Weinstein
My poem “Apprenticeship” has been published in Drunk Monkeys, an online literary journal.
See the latest installment in poetry section of Drunk Monkeys.
Four More Years Please Cinquain
On this
election day
I break the golden rule
that poetry and politics
don’t mix.
Loring Park Begins
A misty morning embraces
October’s auburn to tawny prairie
grass that rims my city
pond beneath smoke
white skies. How can I ignore
the beauty
in change
even if death
is involved?
Go Back to Rockville
As soon as
we bring
your ashes east
to rest
where you began
as soon as
we hear
the bagpipes grieve
wailing beauty
against stone
as soon as
perfectly selected
hymns are sung,
prayers murmured,
eulogy declared, another
poem read
as soon as
we reach
the engraved
memory of your parents
and second sister—
the baby before you
as soon as
your ashes
are properly returned
to earth’s secure
containment
as soon as
you are
released, I will
begin again.
Ten Days In
An invisible hand
rips pages
in the dark. There are
hungry ghost
editors looking to be
fed. Perforated thought
slips through
translucent clutches—
a porous wisdom
visible from the river’s west bank.
27 August 2012
For My Father
The Mississippi flows
a calm at my feet
to send the message
in ripple effect:
I must trust
that your spirit will continue
to guide and nudge me
(despite inevitable snags) the way
you always did
when you were alive.
Without Words
Ready? I couldn’t be
more so. Bronze and
hollowed out. A representation
of a shell to protect
living flesh from otherworldly
showers, I live
in imagination. My darkened
green sleeves peering
through heavy
snow—a figment of a woman’s
realized. Disembodied
lips and an armless mannequin
pillar dance with me
on marble over grass. Who’s
watching? Everyone—and
I am cleansed.
(Inspired by Judith Shea’s sculpture of the same name)
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 