Celeste Jackson

An aspiring writer and poet currently living on the East Coast with her husband and two rowdy dogs. More work can be found on allpoetry.com, thebluenib.com, and in the poetry anthology "Circular Whispers." 

Love what you read?
Send a small one-off tip
10 months ago
He is wrapped up in Santa jammies, towhead bent over sugar crisp cereal and fingers curled around orange plastic; Playing God over a table-top world of mini construction equipment. This is the last ye...
a year ago
You're a pale sliver in the night now, a wavering line of moonlight and stardust, lingering in glassy fragments atop the rumpled surface of my old comforter. I knew you once, dark and lively, with fre...
a year ago
He was a walking river, with muddy bank flesh and rain sluicing into sediment eyes Black pupils sloshing, the puddles left by a late summer storm too warm. The bends of him were narrow and hardly hold...
Suburban Muse
a year ago
I lose you in the rain, freckles connecting in wet dot puzzles, and clothes soaking, tame thing that you were, locked in fabric and worry, turning fey This is the you I spot in the woods, wild Drus sl...
Nightly Ritual
a year ago
Night tore the dress off of Day, and when Dusk ducked below the mountain curves of her horizon, I watched the stars burst from between her lilting hips. Seams slipped into wet shadows and white clouds...
The Fire
a year ago
Do you remember when we watched the farmhouse burn? its old tan paint sluicing in dark crumbles to browning grass, peeling up and away like skin from bone and muscle, torn from the boards beneath and ...