Poem for August 8

August 8, 2012 § Leave a comment


Under the stars, shining faces. The faces holding on.

1986 was just like this.

The look was completely ethereal.

We came here to understand

a person from another time.

We would later call him

the American Triangle.

A tender soul, he has no telephone.

He laid it all out, like

fabric could be a woman,

like Kate Bush looking for a teapot, big eyes.

A screaming man lying down in a field.

In Cleveland I think he

would have been beautiful

and in 1997 he gave me clouds.

Time like pink minutes, the man

sits down his head in a glass. Says

nice things. Say a river.

Like a beacon, a raincoat,

he danced like the fastest

windshield wipers, sitting

happy for the window’s sense

of self. To feel the telephones

ringing. I am so tired. Can I

say that? Can I say that  I saw

a rainbow and it wasn’t raining,

that there was nothing wet

in the sky? The ocean is a place

and so is the heart, the heart

a place worth living. Don’t

look at me. I’m failing.

Cry, goddamn it, cry.


-Amanda Nadelberg, from Bright Brave Phenomena (Coffee House Press, 2012)

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