by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I remember you
the last time,
when everything
I did grated on
you
and spilled
out of your eyes
onto the ground.
Even the black dog,
the one you carried
in your arms
out of that place,
tried to catch your
eyes,
but you turned
away.
I tried not to look at
the disappointment
that spilled
out over her eyes
onto the ground.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
inspired by Kevin’s photograph and a conversation with Rita Hawes
I hope you
have found the light.
Remember when you
scrambled up the cliff
to photograph the light
between two converging
rock faces?
Laughing at my old bones
down at the bottom?
All we can do
in this world of chaos
is set our bearings
by the stars.
I think we will always
have chaos
in this world.
We will never have
a sustainable earth
where men cooperate
with each other.
But instead
living will be about
how we maneuver
our way through chaos
with integrity and valor,
like the old knights
pointing their mast
north,
to the North Star.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
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