Your laugh could knock civilization out but you are too modest. I spent time at the cafeteria alone at school. Red trays quivered. On film sets I can’t look up. How tight is the lighting rig? When I apply that logic to our place in the universe– it’s too cold a stone to live alone. When your soundwaves reach me, in my solace, from the moon or Mars or Mars, Pennsylvania, I want my life to begin again and I want you there the whole time.
About the Poet:
James Croal Jackson works in film production. His most recent chapbooks are Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022) and Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021). Recent poems are in Stirring, SAND, and Vilas Avenue. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)
Beautiful poem! I went to college near Mars, Pa. Small world, if you’ll pardon the pun.