Amy Nash will be participating in a poetry reading Saturday, November 9th, at SubText Bookstore in Saint Paul

home-anthology-new

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. 

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)