Hollow women seek distractions
in you. Numbed
into summer is no way
to look at the moon
each night. That hill won’t hold
all these heavy
limbs and lids. I’ll be the one
to rebel—I don’t want
to be distracted. Let me suck
sustenance from soma goblets
before another civil dawn.
Numb’s the word.
Just past summer
solstice, no rain, muck
blows off
as a dusty burst
of thoughts you may have—but
they will remain trapped
in a cephalic void. The conversation
is over.
I’m not ready.
My jaw aches
from clenching
teeth against the cruelty
of your disease. Look out,
I can’t predict when
or where I’ll bite.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 