Two Poems

by James Croal Jackson

DEAD WHALE

Upon the gum’s shore,
a body beaches–
abscessed tooth of
sand.

How the mouth learns
to chew
diamonds–
the glint
of blood.

Soon, this is ritual.

Don’t confess
your ailing–
let bleed from morning
into next.

The dentist says
don’t drink– so
consume the ocean
of the night
and float
yourself to sea.

NUMBERED DAYS

It’s the middle of the night
you say as you wake up,
7 A.M. sunlight beaming
through the cat tree.

Neither of us can sleep
these days of cells
turning against you–
I seek soft blanket

when touching you.
Fabric against skin
where soon warmth
won’t be.


James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in Hobart, FLAPPERHOUSE, Yes Poetry, and elsewhere. He edits The Mantle, a poetry journal. Find him in Columbus, Ohio or at jimjakk.com.
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