James Croal Jackson \ Monsoon 2015
Eat Your Face
You wanted to eat my face
just as seven A.M. south Oregon fog
conceals trees over a low valley.
I wanted the same of yours.
What you liked was how the sky descended to us:
how you're able to grip– fleetingly–
the mortal, shifting clouds–
to think, I have touched the untouchable.
Many pines, from a distance, can be held
by two fingers. We can choose to let them dangle
The fog consumes and rises
while we watch the sun burn slowly west.
When the rain begins,
the soft pattering against the windshield
mimics the sound of your jaw
fake-chomping my cheeks–
The speedometer oscillates
between sixty-five and ninety.
The hillsides change so suddenly
with every mile– shifting smiles hidden
by a fog you know will also fade.
James Croal Jackson lives for art, adventure, whiskey, and music. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Bitter Oleander, Glassworks, and LEVELER. He was born in Akron, Ohio but currently lives in Los Angeles. Find more of his work at jimjakk.com.