the question of the egg
he took the egg
rubbed it between his hands
until the shell was gone
then i was exposed
maybe i grew around what was left
until the shape of the egg was lost
in folds of my heart tissue
or maybe it drifted in my bloodstream
like a lost craft
a broken plane
did it evaporate in the confusion of the
heat of that summer?
disintegrate
and become part of the invisible
everything where dead leaves and
grandparents go?
unlike you
who can put the tapes on erase
i am haunted by the ghost of a
small unborn bird
wildly shadowing me
pecking, chirping
telling me
maybe it could have flown?
October 15, ©1993
Amy Jackson
Maybe about Taming
I can't remember which one of you touched my face
it was dark, if you remember
I don't want to be tamed
touch my face in the mirror
cover my own mouth
see if I'll go away like a ghost
my face is a surprise, never matching my inside
I don't know what that means
we were lovers for months and years and still
I couldn't bring my gentlest hand to your face
without you cringing, beaten too many times as a
child, for no good reason
and I shouldn't have said anything the first time
you let me touch your whole face
after that you remembered too much, maybe
Maybe I kind of know how you feel now
I don't want to remember which one of you
touched my face in the dark
February 23, ©1993
Amy Jackson
moon-bone
water turned your face to stone
smooth and round as creekbed rocks
one of these beads
filled the palm of my hand with white weight
I believe it was your mouth
threaded onto a black leather strip
gave it to a little girl with silver eyes
what is is made of? where did it come from?
bone, normally a hollow substance and light
has become calcified over time
I found it in the water
should've told her it was a piece of the moon
your face was always so round and bright
as that
January 4, ©1993
Amy Jackson
the freight room
beginners' watch, we're
waiting for someone
show us the way
snowing, delightful, today
wishes and Irish coffee and one slow gray train
it whistled once for us, we thought
a man froze to death in the street this morning
we snuggled in separate beds, long distance
waiting
show us, build homes
waiting for someone, a man froze
it whistled once for us, we thought
January 4, ©1993
Amy Jackson