where the writers are

Amy MacLennan's Writings

Poem
Apr.29.2012
Connotation Press: An Online Artifact
At four a.m. it's the blood that hums first, heart slamming in my ears, fingertips numb under heaped quilts – I throw the covers off, feet taking over, pacing it out, small strides from bed to door to water glass, as my ankles crack dull on the rugs, the air here won't move, I forget breeze, the sheen of street light seems fixed. My bones know the drag. It is all...
Poem
Apr.29.2012
Connotation Press: An Online Artifact
Shows up in my dreams from time to time. Always the same. Eighteen bridges, forty-three freeways. A city surrounded by water, inbound roads elevated, irregular as veins. Numbered streets run north-south, and east-west: avenues with names of insects and countries, Crayola colors and teas. Each neighborhood with a small lake, all football shaped, blue eyes...
Poem
Apr.29.2012
Connotation Press: An Online Artifact
You say, Don't take it so hard. You say, Be positive. And I take each day like a matchstick struck then flung to an iced sidewalk, flamed to black smudge. The cats crouch in high windows now. They watch. As I watch winter's last geese feeding in the field's browned grass. I say, I miss you. I say, I'll try. We spend our weathers apart. For you, it's metronome...
Poem
Apr.29.2012
Painted Bride Quarterly
It’s where you think you’ll stop— a smallish town. Houses with porches that seem like promise. The two of you will cruise through in an afternoon, and the café will serve coffee sweet with hot milk. The chairs feel familiar, the tables impossibly smooth. Floors will creak like home. When you walk back to the truck, you’ll see a single hawk on a light post and say...
Poem
Apr.29.2012
Linebreak
No entry, no door, no clean line around the drifts that twist and send sand flying in the wind. The extreme comes only when you’re in, well into the basins floored with salt and copper flecked rocks, when temperatures spike and plunge and creosote lives long. Think pronghorn, think hawk, think of red dirt. You can bask now: water-like light shining hard in that...
Poem
Apr.26.2012
Linebreak
After, we sprawl. Our arms looped,my foot against your calf, your handon my thigh, a completed circuit,uncomplicated. As we drift, your fingersstart the nerve spasm of sleep,morse code tap as you passage,a message I do not knowhow to decipher. I let your dispatchplay through me, chains of lettersthat tell everythingyou haven’t said, so many wordsstrung together...