Public Television
Alone in the dark room,
by the slanted light of the TV,
I cup my breast and sigh.
Prayers of Yo-Yo Ma
fall in memorium chords
across the death mask of his father,
cello talk so steeped in Bach
that only dogs' ears
& the dead can comprehend.
A dancer whirls in candlelight
of his own instrument-
a man dressed in women's silk,
crimson mouth pursed in mockery.
I want to climb into his empty
britches, reclaim my losses
in the name of Art, wail
like an alto sax in a ceremony
that only dogs' ears
& the dead can comprehend.
Beverly Jackson lives in Blue Lake, CA near the Mad
River. Her poetry has appeared in The Lucid Stone,
Rattle, Saturday Afternoon Journal, and Chiron Review.
In 2000, Zoetrope's ALL-STORY EXTRA, and MINDKITES
published her short fiction. She has a newspaper
column in "The Arcata Eye" called "Postcard From Blue
Lake" and writes human interest features.
In Posse:
Potentially, might be ... 
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