the living room drones and mumbles.
the bone dove sings a petrified song
above the tree, nearly silent enough
to believe a resurrection could occur
in the coming days. pass the stocking
with the kidney stone. bring
the anesthetic. we will drink–
this is the blood bond, the calm,
the thin slicing of ham: bloodless
& calm, torn red wrapping paper
strewn about the room
James Croal Jackson lives for art, adventure, whiskey, and music. He has been widely published, and his poems have recently appeared in The Bitter Oleander, LEVELER, and 99 Pine Street. He moved to Columbus, OH, in the middle of a 48-state road trip. Find more of his work at jimjakk.com.