Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis

The Leaving

a pastel and poem, in memoriam, by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The Poet’s Walk

The Mourning Cloaks 1
accompanied us
along our walk.

“They said,
“He loved and
not to be afraid.” 2

“That was the sum
of your being,
your purpose,
wasn’t it?

“Do you remember
when you told us,

‘Go take
the Poet’s Walk along
the Hudson River.
It’s a place I like
to go?”

So today we walk
The Poet’s Walk,
joined by the
Mourning Cloaks
to say our last goodbye.

Note: 1 Mourning Cloaks are butterflies.
2 This was Kevin’s last message, written after he could not speak. The full message was, “Kevin loves and not to be afraid.” Kevin passed away 2 years ago from today.

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Fancy Dancer

a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Memory

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A memory
of rain
in a night
when
the wind filled
and spread the sky

a
rain
upon us
and
through us,

on sounds
little known

as feet
of deer,

a rain
falling
between us,

upon
two voices
almost heard
above
the wind.

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Swallow

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

All the holy books
of the world
could fit on the tip
of a swallow’s wing
as she dips and sways,
diving for flying
insects.

All the wisdom of mankind
could balance on her
unpretentious head
as she cares for
her young
under the eves
of our house,
eyes showing no deception,
fighting off the blackness
that sits all around her.

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Hummingbirds at Sunrise

photographs by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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The Leaving

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I will sneak
up on you
like I do
on a wild animal,
just to get
a far away glimpse.

I will give you
time to get close,
or run away,
if you need to.

Last night
in my telling dream,
you came to me
to shake my hand,
and then we did
a secret hand shake,
and you broke apart
into a million pieces.

Here, touch
my soul
one last time
before you leave.

copyright, White Ermine Across Her Shoulders, 2011

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Evening in Continental Divide

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Dispossessed

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She waits
at the automatic doors
of the Food Mart
knowing food
is close.

She has recently
given birth
and is swollen
with milk.

She makes eye contact
with every person
coming out of the doors,
but most don’t notice her.

One person says,
“Look at that dog.”

She finally leaves.

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A Blur of Wings

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Oriole

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Oriole throws

a cup of stars
my way,
and I’m hooked
forever.

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