Out of Sight

I don’t look at my homeland: legs
in the grass. Beach balls. Recliners.

If you act like you own the place…
who now claims imperialism?

I see it in the gold paint. In the navy-
black reflection in the window:

industrialized behemoths. Siphon
my bleach hair. Shadows on this

decade. In the basement of spring,
beneath roots of poinsettias refusing

to bloom, my homeland’s eyes
are shut to me.

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. His latest chapbooks are A God You Believed In (Pinhole Poetry, 2023) and Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022). Recent poems are in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, The Lakeshore Review, and The Round. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)