Between the center two
in those chain
of lakes—a channel
becomes a fish
back with ice
floe scales fanning
and breathing
to an invisible
rhythm. Is it the wind
that whips across
unobstructed Calhoun
to get trapped
beneath the overpass?
Or, is it a boat
wake delayed
by suddenly plummeting
temperatures, eventually
rippling through? And
a quiet sloshing
against concrete embankments.
Missed JFK
by 16 days, wish I could miss
that condescending sales pitch spilling out
of the guy at the table
next to mine in this independent coffee
bar. “Tell you what.” I choose
to be here in the middle
of an afternoon I have free. What is that
anyway? Structure
in a world post assassinations
and towers collapsing, in a world
where I witness car crashes
that could have been worse.
What is justifiable
fear? Pharmaceuticals
and a November sun
beams in. Lake Street busy but not
like I remember it when I lived
above the cobbler’s
and you were still alive.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 