Issue 2:
Myth
Jo Nelson
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Crow Kills
His name is death
and death speaks through his hands
because he has read his name in the clouds.
His fingers triggerspeak the crow caw,
their black eyes pry his thorn shield,
their tongues lash at his flesh.
His lead curses scatter air in their heads.
In a black sheet they drop to a snag.
His rifle blast blisters their stillwatch.
In his scope, a crow holes red
spatters a tree trunk tar feathered.
Black beads pull at the dark
in the boyman who shrugs,
tosses the limp body and scans the thunderheads -
he does not know yet the memory of crows
or the black luck diamonds they hatch.
~Jo Nelson
This poem was first published in Main Street Rag.
Jo passed away suddenly in January. Please see our online tribute to this dynamic woman at Remembering Jo.
© 1999 by Jo Nelson. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 23, 2002.