Pond Bugs

want my secrets

inside this greenblue

birdsong.

Where I stay,

I stay inside

myself,

too.

Nature is

unnatural in the city

of my living– black widow

ambles up tablecloth,

carpenter ant

seeks attention

on my leg.

Endless swarms

of thoughts

the buzz

of my head

under cloud-shade.

Outside,

I am trapped.

Continents

You say I love your face and I love yours 

though it can be hard to know the blur, 

the amber nights swished with vodka 

tonic straw. I had the option to 

leave, but you kept me here when I was 

cold and afloat, warmed with handmade 

bonfire. I drift across the vast Atlantic,

feel tectonic pull after all its pushing, 

a broken chunk of earth adrift– can we 

wait for the current to tell us where to go?

I’ve waited and waited through Pangaea

-esque ruptures I wanted to stop– but 

still you kissed my cheek and said 

forever we will be interconnected.

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. His latest chapbooks are Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022) and Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021). Recent poems are in Stirring, Vilas Avenue, and *82 Review. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)