DECEMBER 2025, POETRY
Too often I consider my rib cage hanging from
This tree or that I think of inked shadows, of comic
Book page gutters of panels as cells as boxes to
Keep me in As a boy coloring with crayons was
Serious business One eye squinted like a jeweler’s
In a loupe Magnified Made monstrous like whale
Eyes surfacing from the unknowable deep The eye
Is a foreign planet Occult water Thermal-vent
Civilizations Everything I’ve ever lost And I think Yes
So good So good to do this again, good to focus on
Something without stakes that I could never turn
To profit A truly frivolous effort To create something
Of little to no value Like Mardi Gras beads, coveted
In their season—not even—during a single night, during
The elongated instant The moment in which they loop
Upon the air, arcing toward an outstretched hand
Only to fall to the street or be caught by a child
Standing atop an ill-mannered ladder.
I wish I’d studied Semaphore so I would know what
The live oaks are trying to tell Trees are dancers
All Each in their own blessed step Interpreting
Slower timelines, relaying messages from hills and
Mountains
You never knew that about me
You never will.
Alex Jennings’ poetry has appeared in The Hunger Journal, Temenos, and Obsidian Lit. Born in Germany, he trotted the globe until landing in New Orleans, which will always be his home. For now, he lives in Chicago with his wife and their dog, Karate Valentino, who has one of those faces. He is an afternoon person.
Behind the Scenes with Alex Jennings
How would you describe the heart of this poem?
The heart of this poem rests in New Orleans and particularly in Mardi Gras. It’s my favorite time of year, and I love parading, especially Uptown. The poses of the live oaks always seemed especially meaningful to me, and when I was coloring a lot with friends (in order to do something that requires effort to do well but is utterly without stakes) my mind would often wander to the parades.