by Jim Ross
Bandit
The racoon got into my dream
and I named him Jibbery
fed him fruit leather
and warned him not to bite.
I didn’t pet his head, only his paw
when he set it on my lap. He closed his eyes.
Sometimes I saw a chatter rise up in him
like a gleam, and I almost threw him out but
technically he had not broken the rules
and when I asked, he turned off the light.
Allison Burris grew up in the Pacific Northwest and currently lives in Oakland, California. She received her MLIS from San Jose State University and her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Opal Age and California Quarterly. Instagram: @alliesinklings.
Jim Ross jumped into creative pursuits in 2015 after rewarding career in public health research. With graduate degree from Howard University, in eight years he’s published nonfiction, fiction, poetry, photography, hybrid, interviews, and plays in nearly 200 journals on five continents. Photo publications include Alchemy Spoon, Barnstorm, Burningword, Camas, Feral, Phoebe, and Stonecoast. Photo-essays include DASH, Kestrel, Litro, NWW, Paperbark, Pilgrimage Magazine, Sweet, and Typehouse. Recently nominated for Best of the Net in Nonfiction and Art, he also wrote/acted in a one-act play and appeared in a documentary limited series broadcast internationally. Jim’s family splits time between city and mountains.