Christine Jackson teaches literature and creative writing at a South Florida university. That is, she is supposed to teach, but she probably learns more from her students than they do from her. She plays the piano and acoustic guitar. She also presents creative writing workshops to local writing communities. http://cahss.nova.edu/faculty/christine_jackson.html Two People Under a Green Umbrella As they cross the railroad track In the winter rain, He holds her hand aloft While she grips a torn green umbrella, Meager shelter. They rush past the fast food wrappers Pressed flat against the chain link fence. They step across the parking lot Of the 7-11, Struggling toward warmth and light, On the way to commit armed robbery, Bare heads bowed against a cold wind. Storm Warnings A glance stirs the fragile violet Into lilac circles; A shiver dances Along the clover warm from the noon sun. A whisper sends gulls Inland from the sea, Wheeling toward perches Along a grassy river. A touch bends Two willow hands of a palm Into the green heart Of fervent prayer. You glance in the wrong direction Whisper over your shoulder at our party Touch her hand when passing a drink, Nudging the rotation of a spiral storm. A caress lifts the spiral toward a perfect kiss With heaven’s blue harmony Above a shuttered, shuddering earth. Heart of Palm When we moved into this house, We hired landscapers to plant A row of areca palms in the yard Then had a housewarming party. That was two decades ago. Embedded into one woodsy shaft Sits a beer bottle of green glass Inert against the wooden stalk. One of our party guests, Polished off a beer And smoked a joint Near the back fence. Most days, we are green glass, Trapped in a cage of cut bamboo Watched by armed guerillas. Like the bottle, we wait, Green glass shaded from the sun, Label buried into the palm, Blind, Facing the dark side of the moon. Behind Joe’s Smoke Shop The fat mobsters thaw in the winter sun. Thighs spread, they sit in a circle Around the asphalt’s single patch of sunlight, Munching provolone sandwiches. The young guy out on probation who lives in his car, Opens the hood and slams it, Opens the trunk, Rearranges his furniture, And slams it, Then finds his place for lunch Around the patch-of-sunlight campfire.
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