A life to dog-ear,
to return to the moment
without forgetting, to be
so alert
to the music inside
the lines, she asks
you politely, then breathless—
the begging begins.
amnesia
Whose Gingerbread
Do they remember
months after the solstice? Who
will speak
for you tomorrow morning
before strange fog
clears? Tonight this parade
answers no questions.
He Said He Didn’t Believe
in a god, but the soul, yes. I don’t want
to write about urns
or the contents of any vessel I can’t
submerge in a tank
of amnesia. Whom
I envy is a matter
up for a discussion
I’m not prepared to have. What seemed
too soon becomes too late—the interruption
of beliefs is complete.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 