the question of the egg



he took the egg

rubbed it between his hands

until the shell was gone

then i was exposed


maybe i grew around what was left

until the shape of the egg was lost

in folds of my heart tissue


or maybe it drifted in my bloodstream

like a lost craft

a broken plane


did it evaporate in the confusion of the

heat of that summer?


and become part of the invisible

everything where dead leaves and

grandparents go?


unlike you

who can put the tapes on erase

i am haunted by the ghost of a

small unborn bird

wildly shadowing me

pecking, chirping

telling me

maybe it could have flown?


October 15, ©1993

Amy Jackson




Maybe about Taming



I can't remember which one of you touched my face

it was dark, if you remember

I don't want to be tamed

touch my face in the mirror

cover my own mouth

see if I'll go away like a ghost

my face is a surprise, never matching my inside

I don't know what that means

we were lovers for months and years and still

I couldn't bring my gentlest hand to your face

without you cringing, beaten too many times as a

child, for no good reason

and I shouldn't have said anything the first time

you let me touch your whole face

after that you remembered too much, maybe

Maybe I kind of know how you feel now

I don't want to remember which one of you

touched my face in the dark



February 23, ©1993

Amy Jackson







water turned your face to stone

smooth and round as creekbed rocks


one of these beads

filled the palm of my hand with white weight

I believe it was your mouth

threaded onto a black leather strip


gave it to a little girl with silver eyes

what is is made of? where did it come from?


bone, normally a hollow substance and light

has become calcified over time

I found it in the water


should've told her it was a piece of the moon


your face was always so round and bright

as that



January 4, ©1993

Amy Jackson




the freight room



beginners' watch, we're

waiting for someone


show us the way


snowing, delightful, today

wishes and Irish coffee and one slow gray train

it whistled once for us, we thought


a man froze to death in the street this morning

we snuggled in separate beds, long distance



show us, build homes

waiting for someone, a man froze


it whistled once for us, we thought



January 4, ©1993

Amy Jackson