Two lipsticks total
euphoric recall
beyond what this purse
can hold. To be high
above the trees
on a balcony
railed with red
metal is the opening
scene, is the last
time she almost fell
into a black
out. Period. Under
any conditions
there will be
red lips.
I am the scriptio
inferior, I am
the underwriting
of myself. I cannot
wash away the dialogues
I have had with amnesia,
cannot forget
my desire to be seen.
With each alcoholic
palimpsest, I became
powder, irretrievable,
invisible
to myself. With each
reprieve, I am making
a record of what my disease
did not erase.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 