Jealous Jack

Jack

 

Morning, and a chandelier of snow hangs heavy

over the tin of Jack's barn.

He leans into the doorway, watching his house.

From here, he can see the chimney spew

the gray enthusiasm of a fresh fire.

Inside, she is pressing double handed

into the white bowl on the table.

Her hands squeeze,

knead and press,

into the soft dough.

He imagines it is the same softness

as his fist feels on her face

His hands squeeze,

her hands press,

as useless as butterflies

against his chest

He can see the frailness of her bent profile

and for a moment he longs

to touch her fragility

But in another moment he is angry

It is so like her to expose

herself in the window

He believes she cannot be happy

He believes she is lusting for other men

He believes she made him slice

the once perfect arch of brow

above her once trusting eyes.

 

 

Reviews

[Taylor H]

i completly agree with W k Kortas great poem

[W.k.kortas]

It is, quite frankly, difficult to decide where to begin to discuss the wonders of the craftsmanship in this piece. The images themselves--"gray enthusiasm of a fresh fire", "useless as butterflies"-- are wondrously inventive. The allusions to softness and frailty, made in connections you would not normally associate those concepts, are marvelous. The subtle, almost off-hand way the title character sloughs off his culpability in his wife's abuse is simply genius. As I have said before-- and will say until my expiration date-- if there is anyone producing finer poetry than this, I dare them to show it to me.

[Ed Hart]

the poem is not only what it is, it's about the poet, what the poet knows, how that mind reaches into the possibilities of words to bring to focus a moment of clarity, to inform, to teach, to surprise, and you are the very mistress herself...ed