Four Poems by Emma Jo Black

Noah’s Wife

 

you were the first to see the clouds gather over

their bellies heavy and drooping with a watery death

you sewed a seed from every tree in the lining of your dress 

because you knew the rain was coming

these were careful stitches made with careful hands

every thread of the old world mapped in the fabric

when Noah came to tell you what the Lord had asked,

your biggest pot was already on the fire

 

handcrafted clay in a cradle of embers

the smoke kissed its secrets in the webs of your fingers

how the walls of your house were to bend into wood

the floor come alive underfoot, swaying, rocking you into a new world

where every beast you saw was to be the youngest of its kind

and you, once again made mother

by a man who knew nothing of care

“we will need barley for the elephants”, you said

but Noah didn’t listen

 

already left to rig sails to your roof, the water crashing at the doorstep

a jagged part of your heart begged you let the water in in that moment

let the world be swallowed into something quiet and still

you could already see how the light would pierce the surface as you sank

you could see horses frozen

hooves upside-down in the water above you

as they were silently claimed by the deep

the hands that set to rigging rope were not your own

they danced before you with a fierce resolution that you did not feel

all you wanted was to break, open wide

so you could drown the whole world in your own drowning

 

still, that night, you found a place in your home for every creature

stroked your hands over claws and feathers

you held open their jaws to press ripened berries over hungry tongues

slit the tips of your fingers

let the serpents suckle drops of your own blood

in the moonlight,

you watched every beast asleep with its mate

and wept for being the only creature loveless

 

there was a day when the birds came to find you at your window

told you something was left to be saved

you reached the deck

cast your net to catch a foal that was stranded in the current

as it struggled on board, Noah bade you cast it back in the water

“only two of every creature, was the Lord’s command”

but you gathered up the foal in a blanket

carried it away from him without a single word

in your room, you watched it struggle to stand on shaking legs

its fragile ribs convulsing with the stuttering fire

of some small hope that dearly wants to be alive

all night you stroked up and down its tired flank

held the hot gust of its breath in the cradle of your hands

and somehow, when dawn came, you were still floating

floating on an Earth laid bare

 

Autumn Meets The End Of Time

 

how will I tell her

this year, there will be no leaves left to fall

a carpet of masks on the pavement instead

left to swallow each step into layers of silence

 

how will she

with the paint on her hands

the curve of her brush that fades colours of trees

understand this sanitised death

the LED lights of the hospital hallway

the flickering hush

of a funeral with no guests

 

I must remember

that Autumn never spared me the truth

sliced the soft-feathered bird

so neatly in half

tainted my doorway

in a crimson epitaph

 

I should

have known it when

pigment crumbled from skin

breath unravelled, never let out 

 

Prometheus

this will be my only greeting

thunder sent me here for you

I rattle

chains with my feathers

I crook my beak

to feast on fear

I peck the soot

from your fingers

the shiver up your spine

 

you let a tear escape your

eye so I

peck your tear

I peck immortal Titan liver

if I see your mind is open

I will

peck your brains

 

I peck regret where it festers

peck your guilt where it crawls

I tear the

feeling from your body

crush your

futile delusions

 

when I am done for the day you will be

empty,

except for gratitude

 

 

CRUACHÁN BRÍ ÉILE

 

There was a place where the giants lay down to sleep

Sang the flames, shores to embers we blacken in prayer

Shadows wept and the river ran deep

 

In the sky hung a secret too heavy to keep

Spoke the moon, stone to silver its surface I bare

There was a place where the giants lay down to sleep

 

At the edge of the water a mountain rose steep

Laughed the wind, songs to whispers my fingers ensnare

Shadows wept and the river ran deep

 

From the cliffs anxious moonlight had taken its leap

Hummed the trees, shout from silence our branches will spare

There was a place where the giants lay down to sleep

 

Over shores gusted breath the cold ashes to sweep

Begged the rushes, in dreams let them rest in our care

Shadows wept and the river ran deep

 

From the depths of the water a hand rose to reap

Whispered Death, blood from bone I have counted their fare

There was a place where the giants lay down to sleep

Shadows wept and the river ran deep

 

Emma Jo Black is a Paris-born poet and visual artist of Irish, French and American nationalities. They bridge seas through poetry and cultural anthropology, investigating migration paths and experiences of liminality. They have worked with indigenous leaders in Colombia, wept on many Paris bridges and stalked the streets of Dublin as a vampire.