I know a woman who can write
a lover into being, alive with tattoos

and a German accent. I wish she could show me
how to resurrect you. But this alchemy

cannot be taught. The rumble
wind brushes my face as I keep looking, afraid

to touch the mosaic tile
letters spelling out this station, could be

a stanza, if I could make the translation
travel.  But I can’t see how, can’t

hear your voice above the din. You remain flat
on the page, a silhouette

on the subway wall, never boarding
a train—express or local. 

Amy Nash received a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature (with honors) and studied verse writing with Annie Dillard at Wesleyan University. Her poems have appeared in a range of publications, including Common Ground Review, and she has given readings at several venues and on Minnesota Public Radio. She spent 12 years working in publishing for presses (including Oxford University Press and Yale University Press) and is currently communications manager for Meyer, Scherer & Rockcastle, Ltd., the Minneapolis architecture firm that designed the award-winning Open Book literary center.