The Livelihood of Crows
By Jayne Pupek
grounds pitched on the compost heap. It rises on all fours
and walks on the back of a cat stalking mice in a field
ablaze with late pumpkins, abandoned gourds.
It shines across the undulating flanks of horses
storming the ridge and then takes to the sky without apology,
its wings opening on the caw of another morning.
Publication date: August 15
Jayne Pupek’s bold narrative voice, which is laced with dark humor, takes us on a journey through beauty and brokenness. Pupek creates a world of sensuality emanating from the banal and the quotidian, in remarkable language and exceptional contemplation. Many of these poems are shadowed by crows and other opportunists, such as door-to-door proselytizers, and the forces that might take our minds, or our lives. The Livelihood of Crows comes with passion and empowerment—an astonishing, haunting book.
Self Portrait with Skeleton Arm
after Edvard Munch
Black asks for nothing; it asks for everything.
What it wants most is to wrap you in its arms
and hold you inside an oblivion that never subsides.
In lithograph, it separates a man from his body,
a bone from a man. It devours light and good fortune.
What it wants most is to wrap you in its arms
and hold you inside an oblivion that never subsides.
In lithograph, it separates a man from his body,
a bone from a man. It devours light and good fortune.
Black quells the ruckus of doves mating in the azaleas
outside your window. It shadows koi, shimmering trinkets
in a shallow pond, and inks your clean palms, your eyelids.
It invites old ghosts to return to your dreams in the shape
of drying roses, little skulls. It dresses you daily
in widow’s garb and colors the hearse
that carries your husband to the rocky hillside
where his grave is dug, waiting. Black sleeps
in the dark musky loam of your garden and in the coffeeoutside your window. It shadows koi, shimmering trinkets
in a shallow pond, and inks your clean palms, your eyelids.
It invites old ghosts to return to your dreams in the shape
of drying roses, little skulls. It dresses you daily
in widow’s garb and colors the hearse
that carries your husband to the rocky hillside
where his grave is dug, waiting. Black sleeps
grounds pitched on the compost heap. It rises on all fours
and walks on the back of a cat stalking mice in a field
ablaze with late pumpkins, abandoned gourds.
It shines across the undulating flanks of horses
storming the ridge and then takes to the sky without apology,
its wings opening on the caw of another morning.
©2010 Mayapple Press and the author.
Jayne Pupek is the author of the novel Tomato Girl (Algonquin Books, 2008) and a book of poems,Forms of Intercession (Mayapple Press, 2008). Her writing has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies. Pupek is a former social worker and Virginia native. More of her writing may be viewed at www.jaynepupek.com.
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