connection

Tether

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Whenever I meet a person
I like to think there is
a string tethered between us.
Not a cobweb or rough
rope but a violin, or a cascade
of violins, the song within you
within each person, too. I see
you in this coffee shop across
the block; thus, we are connected,
intertwined forever whether you
go to the space station or not
and I am stuck in Akron,
cursing God as ground-
dwellers do. Inhabitant of the heart–
in this world of small worlds,
this blue sunken sea I’m clung
to you at its depths, you cling
to me with the urchins
on your shirt, the breath
in your lungs my own,
each molecule moving
the way we together move.

(originally published in Poetry Salzburg Review, Summer 2023)

Inadequate Help

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I counted twelve hundred drops of rain
to cull the drought in the desert

but at some indeterminate future
coordinate. There isn’t even a crowd

to be lost in anymore– human bodies
dissipate into pixels on a stuttering

screen. Listen to her voice. Listen
to his voice. What we are drinking

when we speak is a potent purple
cocktail: dragonfruit, chia,

pineapple, banana, ginger,
vodka, rum. I know you

are close when you made it
but the rain’s still far away.

(originally published in San Antonio Review, Fall 2020)

Infinite Strings

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

It was Maxwell
who asked
if algebra
can be extended.
My theory is
it is possible
if we are infinite
strings of numbers,
if an unknown
number
of remaining days
is what
makes us immortal.
With him
gone,
I recite
as many
digits
of pi
as I can
just to feel
my tongue
flicker again–
does the universe
confuse numbers
with the heart’s
density, or
sparsity?
The night sky’s
violins
sing arias
for minor
constellations
that connect
to never-
ending strings
of
days–

 

(originally published in Columbia College Literary Review, Spring 2017)