Stories readying to be
created from a dollhouse’s freshly painted walls. I slept
in that beautiful, long-legged woman’s house
in Georgia in another life. A man who walks
with arms behind his back scares me
with silent questions. Why? When? Where?
Really just why. I don’t want
to wake from this dream to find no dollhouse
with secret cellar door
leading to where it all happened
in another underground. Lyric or narrative
dreamer—who can remember well enough to tell.
cellar
Atomic Number 13
Afterthoughts dance a revel before
me in their borrowed tunics
and repurposed top
hats. I would like to see
that cellar retrofitted
beneath the surface
that cannot be defined. I
imagine how it would be
to submerge an old Airstream—
my silver bullet travels
just under the earth’s skin. I cringe
but then applaud
the rising courage that gets
partially skimmed off.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 