A piece of me fell out of your holey pockets
As you carried my weight for seventeen miles.
The rivers were cold and the winds were ruthless.
The gods were playing with their rusty dials.
My waist broke under your touch like a twig
But the moonlight fell on my spine with grace.
Hope still flutters deep in my hollow bones.
When they unearth me, you won’t save face.
-Jackie
These wooden doors I carve out on Friday nights
Turn to gravestones under the Sunday light.
These violet hopes I hold in my bottomless pockets
Grow engines and shells, then turn into rockets.
The pit in my stomach tells me money is sacred
But only if I can imagine them naked.
The scarf on my neck gives me scars so bloody
I curse the cruel gods who created my body.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 