de jackson

Of Sternum, Sacrum

Before these thoughts are caught
       let’s not
forget beginnings end,

these cold and quiet stones,
       our bones.
These vessels not our homes, 

let’s wrap in skin 

and hide within.
       Let’s not befriend our bones.


Nothing woos my parchment-paper 

heart tonight, not even the whis

-per of pines, raindrops, wings.
The tambourines tap out their 

fireside song, words are smoke,

ash, gone. But if I happen upon a 

dozen nesting blackbirds, perhaps 

I will steal their ebony tail feathers, 

ink myself into this snow.

That Night

I wear black 

and wish upon 

the constellationesque freckles 

of your right cheek

breath held fast 

in clenched fists 

and trembling teeth

as we talk it all away 

shrouded in our inky 


until the earth itself 


and there is 


the lonely liquid moon 

and her starspilled tears.

De Jackson wanted to be a PoetPiratePrincess when she grew up, but is slowly settling into the role of mom/freelance writer. She writes advertising copy, runs gleefully with scissors and plays well with poems…when she can coax her mermaid muse onto dry land. Her heart beats best when accompanied by inky fingers and salty toes.