listlessness

Where I go from here, I cannot say. Stacks of uneven
boxes. Manufactured forests. The power of chainsaw

abused. Pull a cord your teeth shiver. I didn’t change
the thermostat when you asked. I was absorbed

into my own world by the time I walked downstairs. My
mind an ugly barge. Never swam confidently enough

to be here, in the middle of the ocean, no North, no
sun. Sharks in my mind, their triangle teeth and speed.

Jonah and the Whale. Dinnertime has passed. I do
not plan to eat until I learn to quench my sorry thirst.

(originally published in Maryland Literary Review, Summer 2022)

It is depressing to walk outside.
No one of no ones, my formlessness
would be dazzling, if you knew to
look, a vapor in the shape of memory.
I know the sensation of a crowd.
Faraway fear of missing out
in my own backyard– back
to that old mindset. Life of
lives– tenth iteration? I have
planted some sense of evolution.
Everyone’s growing gardens,
hunched over greens
of potted soils, warning
the world of rabbits. I
chase the idea I’ll never
be settled anywhere. Love
to be alone but don’t know
what to do with my hands
when I am. Nor could I be
a surgeon. Or a fisherman–
imagine me, who can’t swim,
casting a net into the lake.
A splash of water and I’m
wishing for a wishing well.

(originally published in Pomona Valley Review, Summer 2022)

James Croal Jackson

Poet / Editor

Barge

Lost