Anna Jackson


Catullus for babies

Look at you, balled up
asleep like the sun.

You have lived your whole life.
You have hardly begun.

You rise up
not just in the mornings

but again and again
through the night —

a sun out of sync,
a mad dawn that repeats

days running up
and over the screen

like a TV with the tracking
on the blink —

How many sleeps
till the morning?

Let’s roll it all up
into one.


Author’s Note


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