Poetry by Nancy R. Yang
The afternoon’s calm rhythmic clicking, the chime
the grandfather clock at Nana’s
the hall dark and scary like a tunnel
the back room, the rocking horse
a fall to the hardwood floor,
my nosebleed. Nana’s warmth,
my head near hers as the pain waned.
The memory blends of South Carolina,
the toothache I had that day, cherry medicine
the open window, soft chirps
the smell of honeysuckle
from beneath the sill where I’d help, learn
from Grandma when she’d water the flowers—
peace that afternoon, like my soul
had been told a secret.
I notice now when the washer stops
the television is off, no one is around
I can hear the flow of blood
inside my ears, like a whisper from Aunt Virginia
saying all we really need to know—
I can almost grasp it again
like it’s coming in through the screen,
but only a touch, for now.
Nancy R. Yang is an educator and MFA candidate in creative writing at Pacific University. A long-time transplant to California, she grew up in Georgia and South Carolina, where her love of art was formed. Her poems have appeared in Poetry South, Willows Wept Review, and Aura Literary Arts Review, among others.