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

ice became the basis
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

Ezzie Minus Zero

That day, Ezzie didn’t fantasize about leaving her husband the way she did every other day of the week, which when calculated, amounted to five

Only the Good Parts Left

Angie was the type of car people kept in antique store backyards ‘cause they thought she looked cool, “There ain’t nothing like a Classic Chevy.” My

Falling Short

I saw everyone, having fallen short, on the ground. At last I joined Everyone, their force being much, and greeted the ground      too. It’s comfortable