Why play dumb? If I could
drink, you know
I would. I would,
I would. Never coy,
I might get there
yet. To be protected
by a tall man, aging orange
cat, I would give
myself away. This long
narrow bed is just
for naps. I pretend
to be sleeping—too shy
to pretend
to be dead.
drink
Day 2,580
Residue cadence over steel,
chilled, is a drink
she would sip
on cold nights to remind
him how she could look
when not trying
to be so permanent. The seep
continues beneath
frozen surfaces—silently.
Day 1,096
She collects all the fear
she has gathered for 21 years,
puts it in a jar and seals it tight,
drops the jar into
the drink. Without it,
her days begin to count.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 