Day 14 of 21 (Block A)
I saw you meditating
in the UPM’s office shades pulled
lotus on speckled carpet
you caught me wondering
if you were tranquil I felt terrible
though the door was open I was
an arrow piercing peace
that single moment I don’t know
if you ever think about it
your spotting my gaze lasted one
second at most my mind runs
reruns just tell me you’ve forgotten
in the chaos of casting hundreds
of extras for a scene canceled
by sudden rain
You Want Positivity? Here’s Some Positivity
The sun shines on my goddamn sunflower teeth.
Thankful my dental appointment was rescheduled
to an indeterminate point for future me (who is
that crooked reflection in the mirror? Relieved
to see bad posture alive and well) to compensate
for. When I graduated college, I fell in love
at the slightest touch– autumn leaves floating
in a pond, the draft of winter wind through
the window. Now I’m older and more ragged
(the other day I tossed a rug with a painting
of a lion so I could replace it with speckled
blue) and, certainly, with so much heat death
to look forward to.
you couldn’t sleep until three;
my consciousness abandoned you hours earlier.
and when your alarm chimed in the early morning,
you said I hate being up, and there was an ant searching
along the spine of your novel. we watched, for a moment,
before you crushed it with your thumb. crawling up the bedpost
was another. I should have told you, you said. I should have told you.
James Croal Jackson (he/him) is a Filipino-American poet. He has two chapbooks, Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, forthcoming 2021) and The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), with recent poems in White Wall Review, Subnivean, and Hello America. He edits The Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)