Ellen Porter
10/18/07
After Reading Rumi

“Friend, our closeness is this: anywhere you
put your foot, feel me in the firmness under you.”

Stepping from stone to mossy stone
pulled toward ocean breakers;
too close, I am drenched in salted spray
too careful, I am left arid, shriveling.

This is what it is like
loving a friend or the Beloved
a fragile line, narrow as string
leading ever closer to the sea
to the center.


Ellen Porter
12/10/07
december gift

A cardboard box arrives, fed ex,
from california to erie.

i smell it, shake it softly
slit its edges with a sharpened blade.

tangerines! perfect globes,
sweet juice running through eager fingers
peeling ever so easily.

the Beloved has remembered me dearly:
seeded gift of white December.


Ellen Porter
11/16/07
Hospice

All morning, phone calls
inquiring after my death.

Have I come these twenty years
fighting the cells dividing
amongst themselves, malignant,
have I come this far to a place
of no alternatives
where everything points graveward?

There is a shuddering behind my
single breast
as I seek out the word “hospice.”
I cannot promise six more months,
nor can I deny the possibility of years.

I chat with doctors
as though I were a stranger,
uninvolved, and when I am finished
I abandon the receiver
stow away the debris of information
and return to a novel
where death is daily fare.


Ellen Porter
11/29/07
Migration

The geese flying south,
the Mariposas winging flight
to that specific eucalyptus branch…
I do not understand this pulling of the moon
but I know it is true.

I can feel the tugging along
the soft musculature
of my arms and legs,
a fleeing back to safe haven.
It is not something I plan,
not a whim to be guided.

But like the butterfly
I am drawn by instinct
away from my pen and ink
away, into silence and separation.


Ellen Porter
10/12/07
Reluctance

The hammock rocks gently
in the autumn rustle of air
its bed damp from yesterday’s drizzle.
I do not lie down.

Early October
and I should be grateful
for these precious few days of
lapis sky and gliding sun.
But my heart cries rebellion
as I see in the image snapped behind my eyes:
the ropes and netting folded in,
the poles, cold iron against
reluctant fingers.
It must come down,
come down
and yet I stand staring
daring another Indian summer.


Ellen Porter
19/19/07
The Dog and Rumi

Visiting overnight
with neighboring monks
I rise well after dawn
skip matins, but not breakfast,
and then feed on Rumi.

Rumi likes dogs;
from them he learns lessons in
humility and faithfulness
as from a beloved friend.,

I would like to be Rumi’s dog
stretched out like a pelt
on my blanket
feigning sleep,
secretly absorbing his holy wisdom
to toss back to him later,
a mute but eager disciple.


Ellen Porter
12/17/07
to demetrius dumm osb

so many theories, laws, theologies
tempting the rational ones
down a path that promises
god.

why make the Beloved so
inaccessible?

all that is needed
is a heart full of love
and an open hand.