Tag Archives: stabbing


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


by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Because they can’t feed them,
the poorest people
turn their horses loose
in the desert.

These horses find some
grass and weeds
a couple of months in a year,
but mostly brown stubble,
and water that is impossible
to find.

Finally they round some of them up,
with sand in their bellies,
and ship them to slaughter houses
in Mexico
where men with knives kill them
by stabbing them up to twenty times
before they are brought down,

before they see
grass as tall as their shoulders
near a watering stream.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry