Good Friday

a sea of cars
parting    people drive
home   I am a delivery
man feeding fish and wine they
snap their fingers I arrive
in the flesh   who else
would they wait for?

 

Pink Sky Over Prague

Today, babies are hungry,
the spirit is crying, but all
we want is an end to war.

Some babies get fed.
This is the time to walk.

 

James Croal Jackson (he/him) has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems in Pacifica, Reservoir, and Rattle. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). Currently, he works in the film industry in Pittsburgh, PA. (jimjakk.com)