Tiny Red Daggers by Josh Weeks
March 3, 2018
2 Poems by Genevieve DeGuzman
March 5, 2018
KENTUCKY MURDER MYSTERY
no blood
where they found
my uncle
on the kitchen floor
hole in his heart
gun on steel barstool
on the drive to the wake
my aunt admits
she suspects
the eldest son
when I meet him
the first thing he says is
someone stole my idea
when I wrote Dexter in the 90s
I always wanted to write
about serial killers
when searching the room
no foam erupts from
volcanoes of old couches
no fingerprints to find
his suicide does not add up
my aunt says again and again
examining scrubbed floors
for heavy footsteps to appear
when nothing else will
THAT CONVERSATION WE DELAYED
phone call–
distance. silence.
static tethered to words
back-of-throat now wandering clouds.
farewell.
COUNTRY MUSIC
the bleeding radio repeats the same
dead guitars their necks and bodies
another day strings stretch rained
bullets for old fingers to play half-
mast country white and blue so red
throats the shallow soundless holes
peered into to sing sand to bury
the chorus of another city’s silent
prayers God never intends to act
VALENTINE’S BOX
pink cube of lukewarm touch
crumbs a trail to what end
these futuristic forever years
longing
sugar
consume each day
then close
About the Author
James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in Hobart, FLAPPERHOUSE, Yes Poetry, and elsewhere. He edits The Mantle, a poetry journal. Find him in Columbus, Ohio or at jimjakk.com.
