Chloe Jackson


Quarters

A way of measure-
meant to one-fourth
or half
and possibly reach
seventy-five percent

capacity
in a plantation
where a home
for slaves
as the bunks line
sullied
and defiled
iron ash
a ring around
the fireplace

My parents hand me a map
with all fifty
states and the need
for all quarters
to be filled
in the hole

the only pits
satisfied
are the deep south
glinted and rich
silver

rusted dull
in ordered crisp
ships from
africa

marked by
gaseous heat stamped
upon
urine and
blood and dried
semen
coined on
fevered planks

a parchment
sheet
measured
analysis
of
too negro
and a drop
enough
for white bonnets
and suckling babies
on brown nipples
picking cotton
wading deep
in white
patty fields
in baked carolinas

coin dies
were manufactured
steel by artisans
drawing up
chestnut to brown
to
ugly and
not apart
of society

“not even
blacks could
be
white-washed
enough”

some virginian
states
smoking
on tobacco
grown
by ebony hands

raised
as lashes
criss cross
and strike
red upon
earth’s skin

a mom
and dad
wail moon
high
watching
their children
transported
away
tethered
to unchanged
gravity

traced
but never
one-hundred percent
found

Chloe Jackson

Chloe Jackson is an aspiring writer from Puyallup, WA. She holds a BA in Creative Writing at Western Washington University. Her poems have appeared in places such as Hash and Jeopardy. Her interests include poetry and prose but she actively searches for different forms of writing and genre. She thinks this is impacted by her worldview. Rather than the world being outlined and defined, she tries to interpret the world as it comes. Chaotic. Unsure of itself. Blurry. Ugly. And ethereal.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2020