When the elbow sinks
in and the muscle releases its grip
When the radiators begin to hiss
on an early January morning in Minnesota
When the unleashed
dog smiles back
When the anger leaves
your body even for one breath
When you touch the contours
of my face
When you tell me
I could be a real girl
When the wings we grew together
under the cold shine
of a winter full moon
finally lift us
up and out
About the author:
Amy Nash has lived in every northern state between Massachusetts and Minnesota except for Wisconsin and Michigan, resulting in brackish poetry that mixes the Mississippi River with the Atlantic Ocean and everything between. Her poems have appeared in a range of journals and anthologies, including If Bees Are Few: A Hive of Bee Poems and The Heart of All That Is: Reflections on Home. Amy has given readings on Minnesota Public Radio and at a variety of venues and events regionally and nationally, including Bowery Poetry in New York City. For 12 years, Amy worked in book publishing for several presses, including Oxford University Press and Yale University Press. She is currently marketing and communications manager for MSR Design, the Minneapolis architecture firm responsible for the design of Open Book (a literary and book arts center), Mill City Museum, and more than 250 libraries.

Part of our Summer 2025 Issue. New stories, poems, and essays now through August 31, 2025.
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Lost you, now I find your word and language images once again yeah Danny from Cincinnati circle of life
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