Tag Archives: window

Laborer

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

He was dressed
like a laborer
bending around in the yard
in working clothes.
He whistled tunes
that were classical symphonies.

I thought, how strange
he is dressed —
yet knows these tunes.
He should be dressed
in a beautiful coat like Joseph’s.

I went to the window
looking for him,
still hearing his whistling,
but then realized
I was waking from a dream;

like the Navajo holy woman
chanting under my window
that early morning.

I went to all the windows
to catch a glimpse of her,
but then realized
she was part of my dream.

Who are these people?

I think they are the healers
that repair
the holes in the universe,
the tear,
the rift just outside
my window.

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Ice Crystals

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

Ice Crystals

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The Way of Bees

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She did not know
about the way of bees
until the full moon
had woken her up
and moved her through
the quiet house,
halfway lit-up
by silver dust,
to the outside door.

Barefoot, she headed
through the gate
to the western trail
where cool, velvet dust
squeezed through her toes.

She decided to check
the apple blossoms
and was surprised to see
bees, at night, collecting nectar.
Beside the swollen creek,
honey-suckle branches
were laden with bees.

She did not know
about the way of bees
until the moon tapped
on her window,
calling her name.

copyright © 2011, White Ermine Across Her Shoulders

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry