A 4-color reduction linocut
8" x 12" print size
11" x 15" paper size
Hand printed on BFK Rives paper
Price includes shipping within the U.S.
A copy of the poem will come with the print.
When she comes in
for a landing,
a bright band of white
bisects black feathers.
When she takes off,
the flight feathers
in her wings
It’s not the glance
of sunlight off
Not the iridescence
of pitch-dark feathering
collecting and reflecting
the colors of the sky–
indigo, lavender, pearl.
She’s not a white-collared crow
blown hither from South Africa
in a cross-Atlantic gale.
No, this piebald crow
is an exotic. She flocks
with common crows
in City Park, zebra striped
in the melanin-rich murder,
an undreamed bird
in a familiar landscape.
SPIRE: The Maine Journal of Conservation and Sustainability
2023, Issue 7
RIDDLE OF THE CROW
He hops instead of flies in his odd, upright manner.
When I startle him on the path, he squawks away,
rattles impotent wings, hollow bones pocked with air.
The murder flocks to his rescue,
swoops to perch on low branches,
caw-caw-caws its tribal warnings from above.
Each morning I leave a handful of kibble
on a stump. Sometimes I catch him
feeding. If I approach, he ruffles off,
a black panic in feathers. He knows my face,
yet holds me at bay, keeps the tension
between sustenance and threat. I name him
Edward Hopper, nurture him for half a year, hope
we will ride out the winter together. But
when two feet of snow erase the stump, he’s gone.
What Rough Beasts
Littoral Books, 2021