a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
Death
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I’ll tell you
what it’s like.
It’s like a train
coming
and rolling
over you.
You can’t get
out of the way
or
stop the train
because
it’s too late.
All you can do
is take it–
let it run over you,
let the train
finish its job.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
The People
by Ethel Mortenson Davis to the Navajo
I’ll bring a peach sapling
for you–
for the peach trees
that were cut
and burned.
And I’ll bring seed corn
for you–
for the corn that was pulled
out before it gave birth.
I’ll bring two lambs
for you–
for all the sheep
they killed and laid
at your feet
there on the ground
with your tears.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Snow Geese at Bosque del Apache
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Sagebrush to Mountain Top
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Old Man
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The old man
had a rind to him.
You could tell
by the way
his mouth
shaped his words.
He knew
what the land
could produce
and what it could not.
His cells knew
what to grow,
going back
to his ancestors
in the Iberian Peninsula.
They told him
what plants to use
for curing illnesses
and what plants
were good for food.
He didn’t see
these connecting lines
in his sons,
but he saw them
in his granddaughter,
in the way she kneeled
near the plant.
He felt the lines
going back
to ancient lands
in the way
she touched
the sheep.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Day
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I shouldn’t have
come up over the bluff,
because that’s when
I saw the great expanse
of sky and clouds.
This morning, on my walk,
the face of the red mesa
looked cold,
and then
these extraordinary
fall clouds
beckoned me
to come up into them–
yes, taken up into
the sky.
But in a moment
my eye caught sight
of a coyote
padding along
the valley floor
almost the color
of the dirt and brush
around him,
bringing me back
to reality and hardness.
Stay hidden, coyote,
and step away
from man–
because where he steps
death is all around.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Wild Turkeys in a Field
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Long Distance Runner II
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
“I run because it is my culture.”
“My father is not there for me
because he is a drunk.”
“The runners with me
are my family.”
“My culture says that I must greet
the sun by running.”
“I think about my future
when I am running.”
“I think about what my life
is going to be.”
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Healing Horses
a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis for Joey
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
fourwindowspress 