i watch papa bury our dog in a grave the size of a pond by Raven Jackson


mauve, sprigs of oleander—
ceilings shedding water

stains in shapes of crooked
eyes—my jaws lock in mid-sentence

and hands cover your last white
leg with dirt
                                             i name it

a lighthouse: a jar full of salt:
a longitude line    undone

summer barely opening her dress
but the shutters singing

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Contributor Notes

Raven Jackson is a native of Tennessee and a Cave Canem fellow. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in CALYX, Phantom Limb, PANK, and elsewhere. She attends New York University’s Graduate Film Program.