After I See Your Post About Visiting L.A. – James Croal Jackson

After I See Your Post About Visiting L.A.



I reach out– longing for connection.

When surrounded by seagulls, I look


for the first semblance of friend. Not

that we have much to anchor anymore,


conversationally. Dolzani’s English class.

I didn’t read assigned books. Didn’t


become The Old Man and The Sea. So

many years to make safe passage. My voice


was a heavy, closed hardcover, whispering

through class as pages turned, and here


I am, strange and estranged, gazing out

over the Pacific, waiting for your response


on my seashell phone. Any sign of humanity

meant I would try. You never answer, anyway.


I unmoor my flaming boat to the coming

monsoon, scrape my hand against burning


plank to gather first ashes. I write my name in

soot. I hold my breath and swoosh into the next


life: the hold-on-to-me, the help-me, the drive-

aimlessly-through-your-twenties until arriving,


at last, at another confused island, a new

decade of drifting through cloudless nights.

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