Cotton Birthday
JENNIFER JACKSON BERRY
Our baby tops a pill bottle,
each white disk
the wrong kind of confetti
kept fresh under her billow.
Or—wet with astringent,
she wipes a swath
across my dirty face.
You grow your beard longer
& longer to cover
your face, wiry hairs catching
on her, a soft towel you kiss,
then sling around your neck,
the ends of her
hanging over your shoulders,
like the legs of any other child.
August 6, 2015
[m]other’s commute
JENNIFER JACKSON BERRY
i caught your toddler palm under head
as she fell towards the bus floor
you wouldn’t think there’d be time to move
my thumb so slightly
across the back of her neck to
feel her soft fuzz of hair
before handing her back to you
[m]other’s dream
JENNIFER JACKSON BERRY
i carried a boy last night—
the longer into today the more
deformed he becomes naked
but for a wrestling singlet i rescued him
this little boy pale from bullies
i sat him down outside the gym
near a heavy door an embankment to our right
he coughed like vomit was stuck in his throat
i told him to spit it out
from his gullet
to rise it up spit
it landed to the side— half an orange
intact pithy lines still holding segments
i remember thinking he must have eaten too fast
i remember picking him back up
he wasn’t but in my memory
now is nothing but a misshapen shape
another child i couldn’t save
