Swan boats
Arthur Fiedler
Logan Sumner Tunnel
The Phoenix Newbury Comics
Fenway
Boston
Off Site Cinquain
Will I
get the secret
code in time to enter
that Boston speakeasy after
hours?
Real Subway
Everything changes
when tracks get laid
down to boulevard
the street. No heavy
rail in these towns. How many
American cities go underground
to move? Above, on, or
below—I will ride
out the need
to be destined.
Traffic Calmer
This solstice is
a cul-de-sac.
I don’t mind losing
my way—no longer ten
miles north of Boston
wondering how houses
and whole streets
can disappear. It only gets lighter
from here, and there’s always
a way out
at that least
likely radius.
Dear Miss
The poetry’s in
the unconsummation
and this latitude
we almost finally share.
Our Saudade
It revolved around Boston,
the Cape, Amherst, the Vineyard, Woburn,
an entire state—
our common ground. You—
with your accent and clearly delineated roots. Me—
with a brief history,
my mother’s story, and an incurable longing
no word in English
could contain. All of our plotting
and heightened talk went nowhere beyond
imagination. Now that I know
you are back home, I’ll fly
East so we can finally spend a moment
together on this sacred turf. You—
ashes. Me—alive
more than ever, ready to be enough
for the both of us.
Been Half a Year
without jumping through smoke
rings to find a trap
door you hint may lead
to solace. I imagine dropping
into a room filled with easy
breathing naked apes. I like my air
not so conditioned, like
to check those back
burners to ensure the pilot
light hasn’t died
with a summer breeze
that got too big
to ignore. Dizzy with oxygen,
I remember that boy who smashed
his fist through a glass pane
in our French door—so desperate
to escape 1969 bedroom
community ennui. One bloody wrist, a siren,
and that blue
cold stillness in his eyes. Now I could
just laugh
at these green candles
someone might ignite
if they want to.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 