Tuscarawas
Stephen Jackson
Hopscotch—he plays hopscotch
with the girl next door, as good as
he climbs trees—chestnut, maple
easily, watch him shimmy up oak.
In the woods, he strips off clothes
—flannel, T-shirt, jeans, underwear,
naked, he dives off the train trellis
into the deep end of Newman Creek.
In our tent, at night, in his sleep
he gathers himself all around me—
in the wee hours, we kiss, undress
—stretch out like the Tuscarawas.
About the Author
Stephen Jackson grew up in Ohio and now makes his home in the Pacific Northwest. His poems appear in numerous magazines, journals, and anthologies from around the world, with more recent work in the UKs fourteen poems, Canada’s Prairie Fire, the International Human Rights Art Movement anthology, A Human Voice, and the Washington State Queer Poetry Anthology.