Saint Jonah, Mother of Want
by Alexis V. Jackson
After “Want” By Eduardo C. Corral
Feat. “Atlantic is a Sea of Bones” by Lucille Clifton
My mother’s mother,
a few mothers back, came here
in the belly of a fish. She’d been
swallowed whole they say—saved
some folk from the wrath of a true God when
she flung her body overboard.
howl, splash, swallow
In her pocket--
a sachet of rice, a vile of palm wine,
and sand she’d clawed up under her
nails when pulled from her father’s
stretch of beach. Dark and true
in Cetus’ or Lukwata’s belly,
in want of good water and light
she lie there, stinking and watching shadows
of other folk and fish pulse through—three days
and three nights hearing splash, howl, thud,
and muddled stillness. True, they say, her prayer
was Cliftonesque and ecclesial:
1. “In my distress I called my name into the roar of surf
and something awful answered.”
2. From deep in the realm of the dead I call for help,
and Olokun hears my cry.
3. What I have vowed I will make good.
I will say, “I offered myself to the water, and was saved.”
splash, howl, thud,
They say she was spat out and ran--
gave her children what she could before
she left them—a sachet of rice, a vile of palm wine,
and sand she’d clawed up under her
nails when pulled from her father’s
stretch of beach. Dark and true,
too scared to ever swim,
always whispering into glasses
and tubs and rain. Always running
to men who were firm, dry land.
The first time I ever laid on my back for a man,
I was weak-legged and wet,
howling, splashing, thudding,
whispering, “stay and save me,”
sticky-skinned and made muscular
from clawing, and nails dirtied
with sand.
Feat. “Atlantic is a Sea of Bones” by Lucille Clifton
My mother’s mother,
a few mothers back, came here
in the belly of a fish. She’d been
swallowed whole they say—saved
some folk from the wrath of a true God when
she flung her body overboard.
howl, splash, swallow
In her pocket--
a sachet of rice, a vile of palm wine,
and sand she’d clawed up under her
nails when pulled from her father’s
stretch of beach. Dark and true
in Cetus’ or Lukwata’s belly,
in want of good water and light
she lie there, stinking and watching shadows
of other folk and fish pulse through—three days
and three nights hearing splash, howl, thud,
and muddled stillness. True, they say, her prayer
was Cliftonesque and ecclesial:
1. “In my distress I called my name into the roar of surf
and something awful answered.”
2. From deep in the realm of the dead I call for help,
and Olokun hears my cry.
3. What I have vowed I will make good.
I will say, “I offered myself to the water, and was saved.”
splash, howl, thud,
They say she was spat out and ran--
gave her children what she could before
she left them—a sachet of rice, a vile of palm wine,
and sand she’d clawed up under her
nails when pulled from her father’s
stretch of beach. Dark and true,
too scared to ever swim,
always whispering into glasses
and tubs and rain. Always running
to men who were firm, dry land.
The first time I ever laid on my back for a man,
I was weak-legged and wet,
howling, splashing, thudding,
whispering, “stay and save me,”
sticky-skinned and made muscular
from clawing, and nails dirtied
with sand.
Alexis V. Jackson is a Philadelphia-born, San Diego-based writer and teacher whose work has appeared in Poetry Magazine, Jubilat, The Boston Review, and Solstice Literary Magazine among others. Jackson earned her MFA from Columbia University’s School of the Arts and her Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Messiah University. She was also a 2021 finalist for the Poetry Foundation's Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship. Erica Hunt selected Jackson’s debut collection, “My Sisters’ Country” ( Jan. 2022), as second-place winner of Kore Press Institute’s 2019 Poetry Prize. She has served as a reader for several publications, including Callaloo and Bomb Magazine. Jackson has lectured in the University of San Diego’s English Department. She has also taught poetry at her alma mater, Messiah University.