Month: September 2024

Annie, to Say the Ocean Hasn’t Changed You–

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Tune-lover, beachcomber sculpting
seashells from stones to listen for ripples (nothing

loaded but time) and I have written– haven’t I–
distance into oblivion (that tidal bass a metaphor,
its vastness deepening) & am I not a shell of was

once, was gripping to any mast to lose
the sea, change quivering– I swear– every molecule
of my being, I must (from the must) of any old

ceiling, the dust it lends to fading carpets,
the ones we walked and walk on today

(originally published in The Broken City, Summer 2021)

There Is a Wall

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

between us, only
a centimeter wide.
Didn’t used to be
there, this space.
We lay leglocked
in bed miles apart
now, this fissure.

In California, they talk
about the next big one
around the corner,
perpetually, and
before I moved
I had nightmares

of tsunamis consuming
the coast and then my bed
and woke up drenched
alone in darkness wondering
if my next one was around
the next year’s bend–

a lover to drown
beside, mouths lapping
seawater, tender word debris
we’d strain to hear or otherwise
imagine.

(originally published in The Seventh Quarry, Summer 2023)

Now That It Is Safe to Go Outside

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

The contractors both my neighbors hired
may try to talk at me and what to do

then? Play normal? I have spent these solitary
days cataloguing the cotton candy no one

knows inside me. I try to get the gunk out
but it is sticky! Gigantic pink globules!

Therapy says all is okay in moderation–
or is that a nutritional idiom? Look,

loneliness drives toxicity to confession.
I polluted air around me for years and now

you want me to open my door to the world?

(originally published in Chronogram, Spring 2021)

Sixty-Hour Workweek

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

the work never ends got slurry
in my mouth called schedules or
points of reference for words
beyond words I say can’t
capitalize on limited resources
I have a tiny appetite you said
after twelve hours repeatedly
you are disappointed in the
remaining hours what’s sunlight
what’s wind got to do with well
being the highlight of my week
was assembling a black leather
gaming chair I like to wine
and dine in slow interior dying

(originally published in Rabid Oak, Summer 2022)

Rollbacks

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

The American
disease: ills of

environmental overload
but these stings

are far more sophisticated
than thought

and soon we will
even overspend

on food all with a
residue at our plates

our heads will Ɵ∙∙∙ Ɵ∙∙ turn Ɵ∙∙∙
to the upcoming void Ɵ∙∙∙ our air Ɵ∙∙∙ Ɵ∙∙

(originally published in The Literary Heist, Winter 2021)

Uneven Architecture

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

birds creak on hills
hedging me & sewage is
dumped into the Ohio
the Allegheny &
Monongahela
nine billion gallons
a year yet there are
sunsets that burn into
me like vehicular
radiation this exhaust
I know from work
is from wanting is
from being diffident
in the greed I cannot
parse between heart &
blood that triangulates
itself around this city
all this virulent discharge
I claim enclosed is home

(originally published in Sybil Journal, Summer 2020)

Protest Beginning in Friendship Park (Pittsburgh, June 5, 2020)

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

It is not enough
to not be
racist. Heresy
to remove
your mask
and cough.
White men
move
their mask
and cough
into a crowd.
We are still
supposed to be
distant. Now
I can’t clean myself
enough off. Blood
on my hands
after hundreds
of years. Yet
we chant the system
has gone on
too long. We look
into a chaos
of fog & tear
gas smoke.
I am lucky
to live
this long.
We must peel
all the saturated
paint off America’s
crumbling walls
and build a new
house.

(originally published in Breathe, May 2021)

Photonics

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I heard on the radio about a career in photonics
so I did research, and it involves quantum physics
and light manipulation. NPR made it seem like
the simplest shit ever, that if you were good with
your hands you could master it. As a freshman in
high school numbers were jumbled in pre-algebra.
I was the weakest link of the Academic Challenge
team, sitting on the sidelines during the matches.
When does one need an alternate in a trivia
extracurricular? Does someone squint their
brain too hard and need a breather? I’m trying to
figure it out. I coasted through college on a 3.0
because I was expected to go. And one time
the alumni “giving” center called and asked me
for a donation when I lived in my car in California.
I told them I was sleeping by the beaches, eating
canned beans and tuna. They said they were sorry
but could I please spare a twenty? They couldn’t.

(originally published in Green Hills Literary Lantern, Winter 2022)