a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
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
His Trouble
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
His trouble didn’t start
in Viet Nam,
although he came back
from the war
and went to live
in a cabin he built
in Northern Wisconsin.
His trouble began
when he was little,
the last of eight children
and a twin.
They put him outside
when he screamed
at supper-time—
the family couldn’t take
two more children.
His siblings taunted him.
His father beat him
when he was older
and poured his anger
and frustration out on him.
He was the scapegoat
of the family.
He still has flashbacks
thirty five years later—
still can’t be around people
or gunshots.
But his peace is in the lynx,
the bear, and the deer,
in watching them
take care of their young.
That’s all he talks about
when you go to see him.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Where the Deer Were
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
When we visited Cedaredge, Colorado, taking Tom’s mother with us, the motel we stayed in was filled with hunters. They got up before dawn to go out on Grand Mesa to hunt, but later on in the day we went for a drive in the area around Cedaredge and found fields full of deer close to houses where they would be safe.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Women
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
When will we take
half the earth and stars
back?
Stand up and protect
the children,
the animals
and the earth?
When will we take back
Our God?
Our Mother?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
A Moon
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
A moon
caught me
by
the throat
and searched
my pockets
for a soul
till love
screamed
across
the pencil lines
of trees
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Spruce Framing Red Mountain
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
The Magic Land
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In the time
of the magic land,
great herds of elk
gather
for their migrating treks
across the highest points
of the ridges.
Black bears point
toward their long sleep.
New birds gather
to winter along
the dry plains of New Mexico
where plants hold
mysterious black seeds.
In the time
of the magic land,
our voices
become one with wood smoke
and roasting pinyon seeds,
and life again
is good.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
