Poems- by Claudine Nash

Signs are for the Birds

This is not a burst

of restless energy or

an arrhythmia of

unknown origin,

this is the universe

blowing wind through

your veins, trying

to get your attention

from the inside out.

It weaves a message

through the fog

to fill your lungs

with purpose

then taps the answer

that lies in that murky

spot within.

Now it tosses light

onto the dirt path

before you

so you will step                                                                  

with sure footing,

and yet still

you shift your limbs

as though they

are made of glass.

It is growing edgy,

fed up pointing at

all these mislaid pieces

that fit seamlessly

together.

It is yelling something

about your feet now,

about how they are

planted on the exact

spot of earth

that was meant

for your footprints,

about how you are

being a stubborn badass

who won’t lean in,

take note and trust

this freaking cascade

of signs.

 

Make a Moment

My dear,

you have done all

that a shaken leaf

can do.

Please stop

beating your heart

for being

who you are,

and make a moment

for forgiveness.

When your breath

stops rushing between

lungs and lips,

reach into this

deepest fault

and lift that

unscarred part

who knows the sky

and light in you,

who breathes

your truest magic.

Dear, please

quiet those thoughts

that spin

your mind.

Now walk this self

into a sunlit room

and let it spill

your secrets.

 

An Open Letter to My True Self

I fed these ideas bricks,

allowed them to grow

fat and heavy with doubt,

render me motionless

while your voice rose

into the ether. You, who

sang of atmosphere,

who spun the wind

around you.

I’m ready to toss

these weights, silence

those unruly notions.

Help me trace your

whisper back home.

Let me hear this song

you’ve been humming,

teach me how to sing

of light.

 

Unbecoming

I shall start this day

by engaging in an act

 

of unbecoming.

 

I shall begin

by awakening my ears

to the sound of

stretching.

Next,

I will peel away the voices

not of my making

and expose a self

that waits within.

I will lend it

what breath I have

for now.

Though the sun

has not yet risen,

 

I will bathe its skin

in light,

 

I shall allow

the universe to pour

into its most

minuscule cells

 

and spin inside.

 

With any luck

all this whirling

and light-tossing

will create a vastness

that will dislodge

the truest parts of me.

 

These pieces

shall swell; I shall

 

not stop this.

 

For some indefinite

period,

I shall be enormous

and small

at the same time,

 

I shall strike a balance.

I shall untangle this self

from the day’s

business

and feel something

in me float and

vibrate.

I will rise up

and make far more effort

to resist my couch.

 

Oxytocin

Sometimes I awaken

with an air rising in me

that sounds something

like wind climbing,

like silk winding,

like a cradlesong or hum

or some mysterious

harmony.

It had felt

like your voice

wrapping itself

around me

from the inside,

but maybe

it’s been mine

trying to sing a love song

to myself.
Headshot-BW--722x1024.png

Claudine Nash‘s previous collections include her full-length poetry book Parts per Trillion (Aldrich Press, 2016) and her chapbook The Problem with Loving Ghosts  (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  Her poems have won prizes from Avalon Literary Review, Eye on Life Magazine, Lady Chaos Press, and The Song Is… and have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Cloudbank, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal and Yellow Chair Review amongst others. She also has a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology. Website: www.claudinenashpoetry.com

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