by Ethel Mortenson Davis

At birth,
the farmer separated
the calf from its mother.
He wiped away
the amniotic fluid
with a gunny sack
before putting him
in a separate pen.
Black children born
to enslaved parents were
taken from their weeping mothers
and moved hundreds of miles away.
Native children
were snatched from anxious parents
and moved to some miserable life.
A Central American baby
Is ripped from its mother’s arms.
Both baby and mother’s spirits
are broken.
The farmer’s wife protested,
“keep the calf with its mother.
Do you need every ounce of milk?”
“This is the way we do things,”
replied the farmer.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

2 responses to “Separation

  1. So heartbreaking…. thank you for writing this one, Ethel.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s