Smart Ass Jack

24 Sep

by Nancy Scott

 
Tilted back in mocking comfort
on my vinyl-covered kitchen table,
grinning gaze fixed on the left,
he waits for me to speak.
He is not one of my dead.
He smiles too much
and still has his own teeth.
Stem curled, moon patient
in his peace of frost-free hum.
I gaze into triangle eyes,
reach my left hand in the wet mouth
that has no tongue.
I am the one
who must speak to my dead
through this carver’s call.
Tell them to stop stealing socks and dropping
bottle tops.
Tell them to send me better poems.
Tell them I love their spirits as I did not love
their earthliness.
And tell them I know
I must stay here.
 

Nancy Scott, Easton, PA, is a blind essayist and poet.  Her over 600 bylines have appeared in magazines, literary journals, anthologies and newspapers, and as audio commentaries. An essayist and poet, she has published three chapbooks. She won First Prize in the 2009 International Onkyo Braille Essay Contest. Recent work appears in Breath and Shadow, Contemporary Haibun Online, and Stone Voices.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: