a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Dance
a photograph and poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis
There is a dance
the bee makes
when it has found food.
It dances in the hive
with all the other bees
looking on
until each one
understands the dance
and knows where to fly–
unlike the astronauts
who came around
from the dark side
of the moon
and saw (for the first time)
what the earth looked like,
new and bright
and more beautiful
than we could have imagined–
a blue-green jewel
shrouded in white clouds.
They wanted to tell us
the best thing
about going into space
was the earth itself.
They wanted to do
the dance for us,
but we could not
get the sense of it.
We could not imitate
the dance.
The Dance copyright © I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico, 2010.
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, Poetry
Northwest Indian Mask — Poem: The Haida
a pastel and poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Haida
The Haida left
the Northwest to come
to the Chicago Field Museum
to bring home their ancestors;
They were gone
for over one-hundred years,
stolen from a village
and put into drawers.
The Haida made button blankets
and round-cornered cedar boxes
painted in their rich
black and red symbols
in which they would place
their family remains
and bring them peace.
The Haida asked
the Chicago Field Museum
if they would also return
their family totems
and masks and other artifacts.
The Museum said,
“We’ll think about it.”
The Haida copyright © I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico, 2010.
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
The Ministering
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The dominant horse
acted queer:
Ran around in a circle
in his pasture,
finally resting near
a black clump
on the ground.
The black clump moved
every once in awhile.
It was the black dog
that ran wild
along our fence.
He had been shot
and had gotten
as far as the horses,
trying to get home.
What happened next
took my breath away.
The horse stayed
near the dog,
nuzzling with it’s soft lips,
going over and over it’s body
for a long period of time
until there was no movement.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
The Tree, Desert, Iris, and Progress
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Tree
Everything depends
on the apricot tree in bloom
across my neighbors fence—
A tree of butterflies!
Desert
The cornflowers are gaining
and soon will be in bloom.
Where are the rain-showers
of spring?
Iris
Cold nights
catch us off guard.
Will the iris
lose its life again?
Progress
Progress
is the budding branch,
the Painted Ladies
warming their wings
on my garden wall.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
The Seeking
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
April Spring
Photographs of Spring by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
April
a poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis
April on tossed hair,
in trees,
across the paths and grass
with branches stuck in seas of sky,
comes,
and
nowhere
is the snow
that covered us
and protected us,
but now
green
pushes up,
and
i
hold on
a moment like bark
and hear
a swinging down
out of trees
and
i see
your surprised
face
when
the earth jumps up fast to meet your legs.
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, Poetry
Healing Bear
a photograph and poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Mudjekeewis:
El Oso de Salud or “the healing bear” is the symbol of the UNM Cancer Center and a Native American totem of power, health and protection. The bear, by the sculptor Gene Tobey, is the animal most closely associated with mudjekeewis, the spirit keeper of the west and source of responsibility, teaching, leadership and healing. It represents the desire to serve New Mexicans whose lives have been touched by cancer with strength, courage, grace and great ability.
Healing Bear
I am the healing bear.
I will lick you
all over
from head to foot.
I will take
the bad smells out
of your fur.
I will bring you
up out of the labyrinth
and will heal you.
I will show you
the face of your child
so small you can
hold it in your hand.
I am the healing bear,
and I will heal you.
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, Poetry
Sonnet 41
by Thomas Davis
We kissed his forehead, yellow, cold, inert,
sobbed our goodbyes, left his body, drove
to Poet’s Walk above the Hudson, hurt
beyond expression, where, on hills, small groves
of ancient trees are interspersed with fields,
a place where, Kevin said, he liked to go.
And as cremation’s fires consumed, annealed
his spirit to our spirits, as the glow
of July’s sun warmed flesh too numb to feel,
we walked where he had walked and tried to find
our balance in a world turned sad, unreal—
our son was gone, his smile, his wondrous mind.
And as we walked the wings of butterflies,
black mourning cloaks, danced through the summer skies.
At the University of New Mexico Cancer Center in Albuquerque, where I am now being treated once a week, a healing bear greets patients as they enter the building. Marked with ancient symbols, shining black in the sun, Ethel and I stand before it every time we come to the Center. The major question in my mind at the moment, one that I cannot shake, is, why am I surviving my bout with bladder cancer while Kevin, only 28 years old, did not survive? I would have given him my life without a thought if he could still be present, thinking about butterflies that were such a constant, powerful symbol to him from the time he was a child to the day of his death when, as Ethel has written in a powerful poem not yet posted, a butterfly visited his hospital room so many stories up in the middle of the city. I understand there is no answer to such a question, and I am deeply grateful to have more years with Ethel, my children, and grandchildren, but both Ethel and I miss our son. This sonnet was written after our visit to Poet’s Walk Park on the Hudson River in New York. Ethel has also written about our experience there. After this moment we flew back home to New Mexico. Just over a year later we discovered my cancer. One of Ethel’s many photographs of the healing bear is below as a symbol of survival and strength in the face of devastating tribulation.
photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, Poetry, Thomas Davis
