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  • James Croal Jackson

We are quiet when / Calendar year

By James Croal Jackson





We are quiet when


We are quiet when we fuck–

you whisper, make obsolete

my lover. My ear hairs

tingle. The first time we came

you said you’d never return

under the roof in which you

placed your possessions. Lust

dust in a sunbeam in the living

room where you thought– with

him– you’d make a home.


Calendar year


blue wheat

meat on the heart

he told me

gaze the world

to understand

heaven

the angels

scream under

trees

their glossy aura

spines


James Croal Jackson (he/him) is a Filipino-American poet working in film production. He has two chapbooks, Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021) and The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)


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