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.


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