#mitchell s jackson

[troubleinonepocket]

Son, if you’re going to risk your love, save all the space you can for hurt.

Mitchell S. Jackson, “The Residue Years.”

[troubleinonepocket]

Here’s my wish—let the world see me now, a conqueror, high above my sorrows, a flagpole pushed through the pile.

Mitchell S. Jackson, “The Residue Years”

[troubleinonepocket]

[D]amn near everywhere we go, my girl’s the girl, that dark skin, eyes always one color and then another, legs you could climb to heights. I love, love it. Love being out with her. No lie, when we’re out my nuts swell up from seeing (as long as that shit don’t approach disrespect) mortal n*****s awed.

The DJ calls couple skate and plays a slow jam. Here comes Kim gliding off the floor, her hair floating behind her. Babe, come, she says, reaching out. Get up, will you.

Now? I say.

Yes! she says, and tugs me off the bench and onto the floor. We catch each other hand in tender hand and lock a tandem stride for laps. The DJ mixes one slow song into the next. The chick I hit rides by snickering with her bright-clothed crew. Superskate flies by in a backwards scrawl and nudges me into a stumble. My girl grips me tight, keeps me steady.

Look at us, she says.

Right, I say. Look.”

Mitchell S. Jackson, “The Residue Years.”

[powells]

What Jesmyn Ward is giving.