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January 11, 2018

Three Poems

James Croal Jackson

SUSHI

umami fish in dead cold
sticky rice clings to
gum. take another slab– tell
yourself you are the
ocean, that you will
chew through sea-
weed.


I THINK OF GIRAFFES SOMETIMES. I HOPE THEY SOMETIMES THINK OF ME.

In Kathleen's apartment in Oregon,
I ask her where even is home?

Clevelanders-turned-transplants,
maybe never knowing.

I see my mom’s mown lawn
in the green fields our baseball

team travels through, my friends
in tweets spitting scores or stats.

These, I don’t care about,
but I join in discussion.

Blue hands to high-five,
then to put my phone down.


LOST ATTRACTION

the snare head's reverb post-strike

the cord plugged into the socket for days

bug stains on the window in sunlight

the black screen of television

two twin mattresses under one blanket

burnt bulbs beneath a motionless ceiling fan

condensation beside the coaster on the table