by James Croal Jackson

I am a sitting landfill beef
lettuce special sauce
a sepulchur in my Ford

and in this warm January
the trees are still dead

one eye open I imagine
forests stretching tired
legs and staying silent when it’s time
to speak spring 

James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in Columbia JournalRattleHobartFLAPPERHOUSE, and elsewhere. He edits The Mantle from Columbus, Ohio. Find more at

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