If I had a drawer
filled with aging apples
to sniff, I might not need
to repeat the word
rosewater
into the stagnant air.
Might comprehend narrative
in its raw state.
narrative
Kinesics
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.
Mud Character
Multistory projections crowd her
view of the river before bottom
dwellers came to divide
it into chapters—a beginning,
middle, end, begin again
in layers over the only naturally occurring
falls. A narrative—perpetual
and more powerful than a light
show or bank swoons—
won’t stick. Who needs
a plot so thick.
No Anodyne
Another symptom—repetition—
a narrative loop
you thought was only running
in your head leaks
out. The sound is a drone,
explosion, premonition, reaper
grim about the mouth.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 