by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Wolf moon with yellow-green eyes, slipping between trees, slipping from heaven. Timber wolf with yellow-green eyes, slipping between trees, slipping between exploding bullets- heaven slipping between our fingers.
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
Heaven
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
In Memory of Juno
Poem and pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Dog The way you buried your nose in my hand made me unable to forget you that cold morning at daybreak. Skin and bones you were. Perhaps a boot to your neck, or starvation sent you fleeing to my gate, asking for help. So I let you in.
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Our Winter
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
About Being Lost
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
As a different species, you were there in the beginning, leading the toddler clinging to the long hairs on the ruff of your neck out of the vast corn field and into the arms of frantic parents. Then, in midlife, you led us out of the western wilderness back to the road— how glad we were to find a way out. Now, in old age, you are disappearing from our lives— a little each day, as a new wilderness looms on our horizon. Who will lead us back to the road now?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
What Hope Is
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I’ll tell you what hope is. It’s not going to the grocery store and getting yelled at for bringing your screaming son along and then next week doing it again. It is breaking through the thick cloak that surrounds him and finding a small increment of communication, reaching down into the cylinder of autism and pulling out shafts of light.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
A Quiet Night
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
An Artist that Uses the Color Blue
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The first pictures of the earth from space showed a blue and white jewel shining out of the blackness. It was like seeing patches of blue in the sky after a difficult storm, blue patches that gave us hope, or seeing rare blue flowers on an ancient forest floor, or the sparse blue iris — a surprise in the dry desert. Blue is the color of promise, the color of hope.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
October Sumac
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Christmas
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We dropped her off after the Christmas program. Snow was on the ground. The night was cold. We waited, with our car running, for her to get inside. But, instead of going in the front door, she scurried up a wooden ladder that was placed outside to an upstairs bedroom. Faster than a blink of an eye she went, faster than we ran up our own stairs at home.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
The Racing Clouds of Winter
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis
