by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Raven is a kicker.
He loves to have fun—
nose dives in the sky,
rides the sixty mile an hour winds,
sliding over the Santa Fe railroad
coming from California
and over highway 40
as the semis roll by.
Raven loves to make someone his joke—
sneaks up on his buddies
and scares them to death.
Smart old cuss too.
I saw him flying
with a pop can in his beak,
heading west toward Gallup.
He’ll do well.
They pay seventy cents a pound.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
1
I was never invited
to the table,
but had to sit outside.
I reached
for another–
whose lap
I crawled on,
whose branches
of trees
reached
out to me
with their arms.
2
Old Mother,
who heals
with the rushing
waters of spring,
the quiet white
of deep winter snows,
with the smell of leaves
breaking down
in the fall
and the bright moonlight
on warm summer nights,
Old Mother reached out to me.
3
I was never invited
to the table,
but had to sit outside,
and there
I found another
who
gathered animal spirits
beside me
on another path
in another world.
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
A drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis for the cover of Thomas Davis’s novel for young adults, Salt Bear, which is published by Four Windows Press at our home in Continental Divide, New Mexico
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Published Books, Thomas Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In my dream
I was in a forest, just born.
(I was given a second chance.)
My old beginning
was an old skin,
discarded and left behind,
one covered with pain
and suffering,
one I had separated from
and left on the forest floor
behind me.
Here, I was born
into a loving family,
one who welcomed me
and esteemed me.
The she-wolf nurtured me
(animals take care of their young)
as I clung tight to her soft hair.
She spoke to me.
Her close-set eyes cautioned me.
“When you feel danger
leave that place.
You will always have danger
and enemies.
“If you are wounded
go back to your beginning.
And there in the quiet
and coolness you will heal.”
She taught me how to live.
“Take care of your reality
at hand. Take care
of your young first.”
She taught me how to die.
“Death is a passage
to another beginning.
Remember, there is always
hope.”
The soft winds of the forest
rocked me to sleep.
The evening primroses
caressed me with their sweet water.
My life was full,
And I was happy.
When I awoke
I knew I had begun again.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
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