101

Improv class was how
I learned to say what
I wanted to say to you–

ice became the basis
instead.
I froze on stage

into an audience of burning arms.
If limbs were currency,
I’d be rich

in dangling
inside jokes from class when
I should have let you

in on conversations we both were part of–
inches from the icebox,
our freezer.

James Croal Jackson

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. He has three chapbooks: Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022), Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021), and The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights, 2017). He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com

Get the Most Recent Stories from Rollick

A weekly newsletter featuring new and emerging writers.

More from Rollick

Thunder Polka

The thunder polka of a new romance Began today on my left foot, the one Believed to lead suggestiveness astray. True love’s a waltz: it’s

Edit

Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of

Undressing the Sky

In love with dismal days, he told me why: Won by dimensions, his green eyes caress Big bosomed clouds. Suggestiveness of haze Conjures up Milky