Claudine Nash – The Making of a Memory

P Claudine Nash LE P&W Vol 1 2019

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Poems by Claudine Nash

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 chapbooks Things for Which You Thirst (Weasel Press, forthcoming) and The Problem with Loving Ghosts  (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  She has also edited three anthologies of poetry, most recently Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love  (Transcendent Zero Press, 2019).  Widely published, her poetry has earned numerous literary distinctions including nominations for the Pulitzer, Best of Net and Pushcart Prizes as well as awards from such publications and artistic organizations as Artists Embassy International, Thirty West Publishing House, The Song Is… and Eye on Life Magazine among others.

When I Come to the Mountains

I hoard the universe.

I slip wind into pockets
and let it leak
through the lining,

I lift cloud cover,

pack rowdy coyotes
into the fields
that I carry,
swipe the flight
of fireflies that
swarms near the barn.

(Did you know
I once hid a patch
of fog beneath
a misshapen

Here is the messy
horse who drips
when he chews
my bruised

I fill myself
with cattail and moss,
my daughter’s
bare feet.

Nothing is safe.

Today I am grabbing
the light as it shifts
between seasons,
I am stashing
the last of the
dandelion seeds.

The rising moon
sees me and hides,
the rat snake

(They leave those
fat groundhog
at risk).

To Do List for The Work in Progress

Stop luring myself
back to silence
despite the warm
noise of a new season
that rises within

Bake bread

Make something. Make
summer from
a swallow

Slip back
into the fields of
myself and swallow
all the noise

Phone vet

Weave myself into this
brightly colored
landscape and
toss tree seeds
into the wind until

Dye grey


Look into my own
eyes and feel the notes
of a mislaid song
start to stir

Stand by the open window



The Making of Memory

You are standing in a
moment on my

favorite piece of
ground under

an angle
of morning sun

I know will
come to shift.

I hold
the light here.

© Claudine Nash