Posts for June 3, 2026 (page 5)

My thanks to Lexpomo for being there. It has helped me realize this song that has been in the way back of my mind for quite a while, give it a reggae beat:

Jah walked in- just the other day
we be Jah walking

Inside out- is all I have to say
we be Jah walking

Jah walk in, jah wakin’
Jah walk in, jah wakin’

Love come to- you and me today
we be Jah walking

Sista brother all come out to play
we be Jah walking

Jah walk in, jah wakin’
Jah walk in, jah wakin’

Policeman say what you do today
we be Jah walking

Dat’s Ok- we know da way
we all be Jah walking

Jah walked in- just the other day
we be Jah walking

Inside out- is all I have to say
we be Jah walking

Jah walking, jah wakin’
Jah walking, jah wakin’

                            ©Jess Roat, 2026

My cracker crumbles decorate 
the table between us.
“To feed our little guests,” I gesture to the ants
to guide you away from
the mess I am creating. 
Our laughter, full of watermelon
drips down our chins,
pools onto my dress. 
One day, after we are married,
I tell you how I rearranged
those watermelon slices
for half an hour before our picnic
to settle my nerves. All you remember
is the mess I made. How everything
was prepared by my hands. 

Whatcha mean,

a Venus fly-
trap lures

her prey with nectar
then snaps shut

Half a yard, half a yard,
half a yard and onward.
The down is third,
and you’ve got five, and
they have got eleven.  

But you are twenty-three,
now. Older than both teams
put together. There is
steel in your leg, new bones. 

And so you feel the bones
each morning, every night,
as what steel there was in
you works its own way out.

the mountain ragged
              bewildered 
   demanded,
              “God knows,
                    not myself —“

                  myself
the mountain 
                       who i am

some goodbyes linger
like peanut butter 
no milk

cat food crumbles
scattered by the back door
the silence when I enter

some goodbyes disappear
like the way home 
on the way home

the dentist I never liked
who crowned my tooth
with a misfit tiara

some goodbyes boomerang
like my kayak paddle 
out to sea

discovering a new song
I would have shared
with you

Books lie on the black leather incline plane,
stacked on top of each other like a
small hut on a lonely hill,
no problem.
I put a plate
of juicy shredded chicken
—foil covering the top, but not the sides—
next to and above the book,
a curious new neighbor on the slope.
Gravity does not care that I have never
injured a library book and
would never want to.

With shame, I return the book,
a thin straight line of spicy red chicken juice
on the leaves,
and the librarian tells me
they’ll take care of it.

And when you can be seen—
small still, yet not still—when you can be
held—small and sure in cradling hands and arms—
Everyone who has loved you before will love you more,
reality sweeter than dream.