untitled 10/30/2009

She’s curled up

In her bed

Clutching a stuffed animal-

Rainbow Bear,

As he has been known

Since she was born-

And twitching

In her sleep.

By now,

The blanket is

Surely twisted

In knots

Around her

Feet,

And she might  already be

Grinding her teeth

Loud enough

To be heard

In the hallway.

(How

She still has a tooth  in her head

I do not know.)

In another hour

Or so,

There will be

Sweaty little curls

Of golden hair

Stuck to her forehead

As she grunts

And snores in her sleep.

This child,

This perfect child,

Is mine

By the grace of some

Divine luck.

And I am

Her father,

So proud,

So afraid,

So clueless

And so filled with love

For something

Much greater

Than myself.

Timothy Vance Jackson

October 30, 2009

I remember

I can remember

Standing over her crib,

Watching her rib cage

Move up and down

With each tiny breath,

Celebrating her life

With each tear

That rolled down my cheeks

And onto her

Soft infant skin.

I can remember

How her tiny fingers

Would curl around the collar of my shirt

As she bounced around,

Strapped to my back,

Murmuring a language

I didn’t yet

Understand.

I can remember

The first days

Of preschool

And how afraid

I was

That she would forget me

As she grew up

With them

And not with me.

I can remember

The first text message

She sent me

From her own phone,

Her mother’s old one,

And how each message since

Has caused

The corners of my mouth

To either curl up

With joy

After reading

“I love you daddy”

Or roll downward

With each

“I miss you daddy”.

Yet

I can not remember

Her being so small

That I held her

Head in my palm

With her feet

Barely reaching

My elbow-

That memory

Seems to have evaporated

Along with her

Tininess.

And yet,

She’s only eight

And has so many more

Memories waiting

For me.

I will remember.

Timothy Vance Jackson

October 25, 2009

Scented Summer memories

Summer

Will forever be

The smell

Of coconut suntan lotion

Mixed with salt air

And the taste

Of cold ham sandwiches

Pulled from a cooler

Filled with ice

And chilled sodas,

Mixed with the grit

Of sand and saltwater.

It will always

Hold

In its memory

The image

Of tanned bodies

And the hint

Of tan lines

That peak out

From underneath

And around the edges

Of bikinis

That seemed to get

Smaller and tighter

With each summer’s arrival

And the approach of

Adulthood.

The smell

Of coconut lotions

And salty air

Take me back

To many exact moments

And vivid images of years past

And different beaches

From the ones

I now take my daughter to.

The girls of my memories

Never seemed as young

As these girls,

Though they look

The same.

As the September sun

Sinks and fades

Into the horizon

Of another passing summer,

The memories remain

Scented as strong as ever.

Timothy Vance Jackson

September 5, 2009

Size

She’s standing

Barefoot

In the kitchen

Peeling vegetables

At the sink.

The edge

Of the counter

Comes up to the middle

Of her torso,

But is below my waist.

Her tininess

Is never lost

On me

As I watch her

Glide

Elegantly

Through

What looks like

An over-sized world

For her.

When I stand

In her home

Back in Taiwan,

It looks comically

Different,

And I live up to

The name

Given to me

By the nieces and nephews-

Uncle Giant.

But now,

It is my kitchen,

Our kitchen,

The does not fit

Her.

My seemingly over-sized

World

And her

Petite beauty

Clash

With foot stools

And crammed

Lower shelves-

Fewer and fewer items

Have homes

On high shelves

And the lower shelves

Are now overflowing.

Yet we fit

Hand in hand

Without problems

And with ample

Happiness.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 22, 2009

The edges

There’s a lot

Going on

In my head

These days.

“Soul searching”

Is too simple

A term to use

And too melodramatic

As well.

It’s more

Of a scouring

The edges

Of my mind

To find answers

To questions

I haven’t asked yet

Because of the fear.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 22, 2009

The words and the searching

It’s been a while

Since

I put the headphones

On

And slipped into

The dark,

Sitting on the steps

Of my apartment

With a cigar

Held tightly

Between my lips

And sipped a scotch

Or glass of port

With a fountain pen

And paper

To write

On.

Squinting

Against the smoke

Blowing

Back into my eyes

As I search

And search

And search for

The ever elusive words to convey the swirling and rushing emotions flying through my mind.

The last

Remaining

Cigars

Of my pathetic

Collection

Are now dry

And cracked,

But are calling

To me-

Asking me to search

Again

For words.

Just for words-

The meanings

Are

Less important

Than the words themselves.

The words

And the act

Of searching

And sitting

In the dark

With smoke

In my eyes-

The words and the searching.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 22, 2009

Rest

Feeling the need

To unplug

From it all

And disappear

For just a bit-

Long enough

To find myself

Again.

The daily fights

And power struggles,

Have left me

Drained

And lifeless,

Wondering

Why.

I need a rest

And to quiet

The voices

Of disagreement

And discontent.

It’s time

To drink in

The happiness

That I have

Had to let go of

In order

To hold my sword

And my shield.

My arms are tired

And the battle is

Too long

To hold

My attention

Any longer.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 22, 2009

Breathing

The wind is blowing

Through the glass chimes

That were purchased

When my daughter was still an infant

And the glass angel

Caught her eye

And then her fingers

In the local shop.

Allegedly,

We’ll see rain tonight,

In southern California.

The air is damp

With rare humidity

As the chimes clink

And the curtains blow

In and out

Against the window-

As if the apartment

Is breathing

Deep,

Heavy breaths.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 21. 2009

Red roses

Staring at the roses

On the kitchen table,

Given to my bride

On Chinese Valentine’s day,

Our first

As husband and wife.

The music floats

In the air,

Much lighter than I,

Filling the small apartment

With more

Than just my heavy head.

We sit

Side by side

With our computers

Glowing in the low light

Of night in our home-

Her screen

A dizzying landscape

Of Mandarin characters

And faces

From somewhere

Far

Away from here.

The kitchen is filled

With the smell of foods

From across a vast ocean,

But there is no distance

Between us-

Where we sit

Or how we live.

Pictures from the wedding

Are still fresh

And full of crisp memories

From just a few months ago

In Taiwan.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 21, 2009

Untitled 8/21/09

Wind blows through the windows

And ruffles the curtains

As the cool So-Cal evening

Air

Is filled

With the rare humidity

Of possible rain

In summer.

In the distance,

Sirens wail

As an ambulance

Races

To a nearby hospital,

Temporarily disturbing the peace

And calm

Of the music playing

In the background

Of my apartment-

Her voice

Painting

A picture of love lost

And sadness found.

The warm fruitiness

Of the red wine

Lingers on my tongue

As the alcohol evaporates

And I become

Lighter

With the weight of it all

Shrinking

And beginning to break apart.

Before long,

I may find myself

On the porch

With a cigar

Clenched between my teeth,

Drawing in the taste

Of the smoke

And watching the rings

Dissipate

Into the air.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 21, 2009