Shakes my hand
for choosing to walk
right past that survival
sign. No longer a tobacco
stained talker, I just smile
my way toward prevailing bluffs.
recovery
Cia
When I was new
in my skin, you rubbed
your sweet lilac fur
against it to let me know
I was no longer an untouchable.
Day 3,000
Three thousand days, three thousand nights, hands off
bottles, a mouth that forms
new words like foreign objects
on the tongue. This counting is not done
on fingers or in the head. It springs forth
mid-tally from a soul
she can count on most days.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 