Jayne Pupek

LAZARUS

What do you remember of the house   

we  shared on Boulevard and Grace? 

The  bathroom tiles shed like reptilian 

skin, dropping off in pieces when 

hot  showers and sex 

raised the room's humidity.

The towels were yellow, placemats 

bamboo, and the overstuffed 

futon smelled like urine 

when the mercury rose.

That summer, a tomcat you'd been feeding

snared a  young opossum. You handed me

the bloody marsupial, limp and gray   

as  a dishrag, said I could bring it back. 

I smeared Neosporin across its neck and fed it

canned milk from a dropper.  When it lifted

its wedge-shaped head, you christened it

Lazarus, risen from the dead. 

Three days later, it bit me, drawing blood.   

That night in dreams, our lives turned rabid.

We snarled at each other, our open mouths 

spewing white foam.

I

RED  RULERS

Black lines inside my skull. A map of my life in absentia.

The drudgery of housework and sex with the same man.

In the far corner, the radiator hisses and moans

like someone held hostage. Yes, Peter, it's possible

to keep your wife inside the pumpkin shell,

but be prepared  for the insults

she'll carve into orange walls.

A nuisance arrives below the windowsill

and wants to come inside. I stuff rags in cracks

to keep it out, then question my air supply.

Lightening bugs in a jar and a lid without holes.

Folding chairs are a hazard. So are 

long dresses, white shoes, and bridal veils.

There are signs. I no longer recognize myself.

Today I sat opposite a maimed cricket and felt   

no  remorse after pulling off its remaining legs.

There are red rulers inside the desk drawer,

but I can think of nothing 

to  measure in inches when outside, the sky 

stretches blue and unbroken for miles.

Jayne Pupek holds an MA in counseling psychology and has spent most of her professional life in the field of mental  health. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in numerous print and online literary journals. She has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Jayne is the author of one book of poems, Forms of Intercession (Mayapple Press,  January, 2008) and two chapbooks: Local Girls (DeadMule, 2007) and Primitive (Pudding House Press, 2004). Her first novel, Tomato Girl,  will be published by Algonquin Books in the fall of 2008. She resides near Richmond, VA.