Rubber ball bouncing against
wooden desk in the trench
of a schoolday– waiting for the spelling bee.
I was good, and at Ss. Philip and James
this was something, this was a whole thing,
the rolling ball through the desk through the day
to the microphone, sixth grade, me vs. Liana,
the red auditorium packed with family
oohing and clapping before the era of smartphones
and fact-checking gods. I heard the word
and spelled it, but I still haven’t been able
to find rabbitslike anywhere–
the dictionary, the dark web, the FBI–
I think about this more than I should.
This was a serious mistake, you judge
and executioner of a childhood dream.
What’s rabbitslike is you, parents: reproducing
kids who can spell with nowhere to put them.
You dug me a hole I never spelled my way out of.
About the Author:
James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet working in film production. His latest chapbook is A God You Believed In (Pinhole Poetry, 2023). Recent poems are in The River, Mangrove Review, and Packingtown Review. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Nashville, Tennessee. (jamescroaljackson.com)
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