by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Here
we breathe in sky
and out sky,
like the trees
that grow out of rocks,
breathing in sky and living.
He is our father,
the one who made us,
the one who takes
the sky sounds
of hummingbird wings
and gives them to us,
to be our hearts.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis after a conversation with Rita Hawes
Bought one of those
genetically modified chickens
(the one with the big breasts)
home,
but she just sat there
in a clump
in the middle
of the yard–
didn’t get up
and peck and
scratch around
because her skinny
little legs couldn’t
lift her big chest
off the ground.
But that’s okay,
because a few weeks
in those little wire cages,
voila!
Big chicken breasts.
Millions of little cages whose
chickens are ripe
for picking.
My how we love our big breasts!
copyright 2010 I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
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.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
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.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
photographs by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
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
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
fourwindowspress 