By On the Occasion of Getting the Results of a Biopsy a poem by Jene’ Jackson I lifted my eyes to the sky after hearing “all clear” at a dreaded follow up To see two hawks circling between contrail X’s hallways the high ways. The hawks circled each other together but
National Treasure, Nicolas Cage, and my Mom
Today marks six years since my mom died and the world became a little less bright. Every year, on her birth and death days, I do my best to honor her in one way or many. When I walked into work today, the music playing was all her favorites: Elton
Civil War of My Books
I’m having a weird relationship with my books lately. I have many, many books. I had many books before my mom died, and then I got most of hers, and now I have even more. And they’re great books. I call myself a “literary survivalist.” Someday–we all know it will
My First March: Why I’m Marching for Bernie Sanders Today
My First March: Why I’m Marching for Bernie Sanders A friend said to me yesterday, “Go hiking instead of marching. Nature is eternal, politics, not so much.” And so I pondered why I was “wasting” this glorious 60-degree Colorado winter day to hang out with a bunch of strangers on
Three Years…On the Upswing
Three years ago today, my mom died after a long battle with cancer. She was 67. Too young. Unlike the others, this anniversary has not felt muffled and dark. Instead, it’s been filled with hanging out with my children and much laughter. It’s been a bright day. Mom died on
Derailed. Castle and the Sea
I recently took a trip. To the beach. A dear friend asked me to cat-sit for a little over two weeks at her condo right. on. the. beach. Balcony overlooking the sand. Twenty or thirty yards from the water. I cleared it with my ex (we co-parent), arranged kids school
Back to Life: Weeping Salaams with Hugging and Wailing Dancing Spinning Gratitude and Pie
It was February 2012. I was about to launch the serialization of my book, The Oat Project. I got a call from family saying my mom was in the hospital. She had beaten cancer twice since 2008 but had struggled in the year before with “maintenance” chemo. She was having
A Birthday Poem
Fundamental, by Jene’ Jackson on her birthday, today, as she drove home down Colorado Avenue after writing all day. Perhaps, pungent as the cut onion’s night after night spray in kitchen curtains pervasive as the toddler’s goo griming the minvan seats tenacious as the smoker’s film of brown on bedroom walls,
Happy Birthday, Mom
Dear Mom, Happy Birthday, mamadear, on what would have been your 69th. I’m sitting here about to watch an Agatha Christie movie, whom you loved, eating beets then pecan shortbread, which you loved (as do I), end-of-week tired from work you would have been so happy to know I was
Forest Fires, Drama Queens, and Authenticity
This is an excerpt from The Oat Project, from the rock concert chapter. It may or may not make the final version (coming this summer!!!). Enjoy…and now, back to it. It’s like World Wide Wrestling. What is that fake-fighting impulse? Do we all have it in one form or another?
