James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. His latest chapbooks are Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022) and Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021). Recent poems are in Stirring, Vilas Avenue, and *82 Review. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)

Tomorrow

we pretend to know 
      tomorrow

                 that we don’t
is both the plight
                and light

                     in living

   each day
        a slow burning

                      candle
                     that dies 
                       inside 
                     the next

Hot Air

if I knew you were sailing nimbuses in a hot air balloon  
I would have said yes when you asked about tethering 

that was your dream it was my dream too but I was drifting 
in the Pacific on a Rubbermaid raft off the shore of Redondo    

I should have said yes your eyes in the storm the wind lifted 
us we had the world under our feet I was floating I was soaring 

I could taste the wind in the clouds some hot air balloon I am 
thankful you came to see me I am thankful you came to see 

me I am thankful you came to see me I am thankful you came

I Never Considered My Grandparents 

Whom I never met, would be buried in Akron,
the backdrop of sleepless drunk nights, wandering 
park properties as if I owned them in my boisterous 
consumption, alive but for the thrill of spending 
time with those I wish eternity upon, gathered 
before me the gargoyles, the hellraisers, the love 
I could burrow underneath rain-pocked heartache, 
one golden anniversary away from immortality 
on a slab of stone drunk kids can stumble over 
and plant their knees in the recycled mud.