by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I will make a sacred space around you—
like the dome of heaven over the earth.
There the arrows will not penetrate,
and the bow will not exist.
Inside the air will be
the icy breath of January.
It will awaken you from your sleep,
but warmth will be all around you
like the arms of a great bear.
There will also be faces of wolves
whose muzzles poke you under your arm
to get you up on your feet
to see if your wobbly legs can stand.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The wolf has been reintroduced
throughout Europe.
In the Northern regions
a woman from the Scandinavian countries
said, ”We have a right to shoot an animal
that kills our sheep and cattle.”
In the Southern Regions
of Italy, Spain, and Romania,
an old woman of Romania
said, “We don’t care if the wolf
takes a sheep once in a while,
because we like to see them—
they are part of our culture.”
The wounded wolf
crawls behind a waterfall
as a man takes aim.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
fourwindowspress 