Jackleen Holton
Jackleen Holton works as an astrologer and sometimes finds poems on the rim of a canyon in San Diego, California. Her work has appeared in North American Review, Poet Lore, Rattle, and anthologies like The Giant Book of Poetry and California Fire & Water: A Climate Crisis Anthology.
Boxer’s Fracture
My mother once put her fist / through drywall, nothing fractured // but that already-broken home, / a little more of her spirit and ours.
May 2026The Only Ones
Poems About Parents
I failed at wisdom, nurture, / nature, separation, and calm. / I excelled at role model, if what / you wanted was wretched.
— from “Old Mom,” by Jessica Barksdale
What my father didn’t know when he drove / ten-year-old me in the bed of his pickup truck / to gun shows & shooting ranges, initiating me / into the art of the hunt, was that he was actually / teaching me how to write poems
— from “Portrait Of The Poet As A Child,” by Elizabeth Knapp
In my memories my godfather towers / over me, his deep baritone thundering / above us as we sing hymns during Sunday / service.
— from “Small,” by Courtney LeBlanc
My brother calls to say he’ll meet us / for lunch in a few hours, not to wait for him / if he’s late. He’s got to pick up Mom. / And though the crematorium / is near our hotel, he’ll take her ashes home / first.
— from “Waiting In Cars,” by Jackleen Holton
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