Tag Archives: blood


by Ethel Mortenson Davis

When I came close
to you,
you took a knife
and began
stabbing me all over.

the pain
was so great
I could hardly
bear it.

But, as I looked
into the mirror
there were
no wounds, no blood.

But I felt great pain
and many stab wounds.
How could this be?

I looked again
into the mirror,
and on your chest
were many wounds,
blood was pouring out
all over
your body.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry


a poster design by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son

Kevin’s note with the design: A simple play on the Sudanese flag to bring greater attention towards the ongoing Darfur situation.

The Darfur conflict is still ongoing even though the region, the size of France, gained independence in 2011. Kevin was part of the movement to protest what he saw as genocide in Darfur and created this poster as part of that movement. The poster gained national notice.


Filed under Art

People Speaking, Mixing Up Words, Glossing Over Details

by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son

below the hasty gridlock of contradictions
and among minced words on tall podiums,
a man preaches about compassion,
his eyes limpid.

an annishinabe woman once told me about relationships:
her people, skidding across moments, carried by wisdom,
the blood of her people seeping through these moments,
droplets ingrained with the soil.

but does the soil judge us as a merciless god?
my eyes follow a parched river basin.
the sun retreats to greet those who have been forgotten.

resting on the horizon, the flow of the river can still be felt.
bloods join, racing through the veins of sleepy sandstone cliffs.
their faces emerge in the crisp warmth of sunset, eyes limpid.

compassion and inequality, conflated, are left to fend on barren streets.
the woman taught me that no matter our origins,
drops of our blood seek out clemency.

rivers flow.
soils take root.
the earth does not judge,

but among our minced words progress paves over the basins,
and our blood is sealed away.


Filed under Poetry