Jim Davis
Quantum Jog Sunday, mid-February, soft light despite the suntucking itself behind even the smaller buildings, still lightto be had and run through. There are no batteries in my musicbut the cord rubbing against the hem of my sweatshirtis something. I think of my ear as nothing more than a vibrationreceptor. I think of my ear as mirror to the shells I’ve held up to iton the beach, which explains the wave-like arguments I am led tobelieve. The saliva at the back of my throat is thickening and I thinkof a John Wooden quote. I’m done when I touch the wrought iron gateof my home. Now stretching hamstrings with my heel propped upon the ledge of what used to be a hardware store, the 5:53 to 95thcoughs up in a fog. It hisses and lowers and the old man gets upfrom the bench. Ticket punched, he walks back to his seatat the same speed as the bus pulling away from the curband for a moment we are in the same time-space: I amstanding still, remembering beaches, he’s walking awaybut we’re both exactly here and here is everything I ever thoughtit was: all I’ve been, all I’ll be: now, and it’s everlasting, and it’s gone.I wonder how many times I’ve acted unforgivably. I wonderif those acts appear in the spiral of infinity I am in, we are in, for a moment.I’m not a hypothetical man. I won’t make more of this than it is. And if it’s quantifiable in a history of chemicals and cognizance, no needto hear it: I only want to catch my breath, pour a cup of water from the tap. JIM DAVIS is a graduate of Knox College and an MFA candidate at Northwestern University. Jim lives, writes, and paints in Chicago, where he edits the North Chicago Review. His work has appeared in Seneca Review, Blue Mesa Review, Poetry Quarterly, Whitefish Review, The Café Review, and Contemporary American Voices, in addition to winning the Line Zero Poetry Contest, Eye on Life Poetry Prize, multiple Editor's Choice awards, and a recent nomination for the Best of the Net Anthology. www.jimdavispoetry.com