One morning when I
needed to shake the
silence in my bones,
I slipped out before
sunrise and found the
song I used to sing
sitting on the ground
by the dog’s favorite
lamppost. I lifted it up
and felt hope swirl
through the moment,
but by rush hour’s end,
its hum had thinned to
a whisper. Later I found
notes strewn all over
the field, listened to
a chorus rise through
each ice-encased blade
of grass as it melted
away through the day.
Its lyrics speak of peace
and decency and the type
of promise that pours
through the first crack
of sunlight. Its melody
inspires like coffee,
but I can no longer
do it justice. I used to
sing every day, but lately
my voice is so bound
by outrage, I can hardly
hold a tune.
Claudine Nash is a psychologist and award-winning poet whose collections include The Wild Essential (Kelsay Books, 2017), Parts per Trillion (Aldrich Press, 2016) and the chapbook The Problem with Loving Ghosts (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Her work has received Pushcart Prize nominations and has appeared in a wide range of magazines and
anthologies including Asimov’s Science Fiction, BlazeVOX, Cloudbank, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, and Dime Show Review. Website: www.claudinenashpoetry.com.
