Tag Archives: killed

Wrinkled Skin

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

This morning
the trunks of cedar trees
felt skin-like,
looking like wrinkled
elephant skin —

elephants cornered
throughout Africa,
poached, killed
for money.

One man spent most
Of his life protecting them.

When he died recently,
the elephants walked
in single-file to his house
where he lay in state,
circling his house and
staying for some time.

Animals and birds know
when people want to
protect them,
show grace and gratitude.

They wait for us to save them,

the animals,
the cedars,
the wrinkled skin.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Old Woman

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She dropped her eyes
when a white woman
said, good morning.

is all there was.

Perhaps she remembered
the Long Walk
and what the whites did:

How they starved
and killed
the Navajo,
down to five thousand—

how they decimated them
until their chromosomes
layed waste
and disease set in,

diseases where the people
cannot go out in the sun
without dying.

Silence is what she spoke.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry