Ellen Porter
11/03/07
A Few Ditties

We fear one may be missing.
But overhead among the quilts
all three cats: smug together.
They grin, watching us worry.

………………………………….

The few birds left in November
sound worried in the chilly trees.
They lean eagerly into migration.

…………………………………..

We are not far north
but winter promises ice and snow.
Still tepid, the breeze trickles
through my open window,
and, too early, I pull my blue shawl from
a seasonal drawer.


Ellen Porter
11/17/07
Corn Woman

Before I knew my Beloved
I walked casually
through the soldier straight
lines of corn.
Each stalk rose
hiding its secret delights.
I was happy then,
no yearning was awake in me.

Then suddenly,
years later, I felt the
tug of God.
I walked the fields again
looking down toward
dark and fertile ground,
up at rain-expectant sky.
And I knew it was some
mystery I sought,
some corn woman.

And years later still,
I longed for this Beloved,
searched row upon row
stalk by stalk.
And I found her in the corn
and the pregnant sky.
I turned my spirit-face inward
and discovered her waiting,
ever in my soul.


Ellen Porter
11/09/07
Growing Room

This pen in my hand
this blue lined paper
these are all I have
except my impending death.

Pen and fine paper
receive the senses of my heart.
I draw the letters of fear
and know trembling within.

Sorrow fills my hand and wrist
at the enormity of what
will be left behind.

One tiny drop of peace
in the palm of each hand.
I open my fists
drop my pen.

Palms up I pray to the Beloved
and offer this awkward solace
growing room.


Ellen Porter
Known So Well

I wonder what I know so well
as the great poet knows the woods and sea.
She names each birdsong, each weed and flower
and how they move through this astounding world.

Perhaps it is this body of decay
inhabited by a foreign foe—
cancer—
played out in breast and fragile tissue.
There is my poetic attention.
I know this physicality so well,
the name of each struggling breath,
of fluids flowing against my wild imagination,
and I am learning how to wander
through a disintegrating world.

Is it enough, the nuances of myself
to scatter ink on paper
and call it
poem?


Ellen Porter
12/07/97
Passing

If I should pass today
across the ragged edge of earth time,
I would find myself, a grasp of
mistletoe in one hand, looking for
A suitable lintel under which to linger
for a yuletide kiss.

I would scrape open my window
frozen with screws and caulking
against seasonable drafts and,
sticking my head into winter
feel snowflakes on my neck
and snowflakes on my tongue.

I would light a fire behind the grating
and dry my fingers, warm my ears,
drift into a fragile nap, smiling
in my sleep.

And then, sated with this world,
I would simply let go
and, curious and peaceful and calm
step across the boundaries of earth time
to learn what replaces snowflakes and
kisses, and fires.


Ellen Porter
9/12/07
The Art Museum

Until midmorning
the museum was closed.
The pictures hung,
portraits stealing glances at each other.
No human eyes to look
save those of the janitor
as he swept the carpets,
dusted the frames.

And then the doors were opened.
I wandered, looking;
whirling with Van Gogh’s skies
dipping with water lilies of Monet.

Then I saw him,
standing firm as a defiant child
hands fisted at his sides
staring at Picasso’s Guernica.
His rounded face and epicanthic folds
defined his syndrome.
And as I watched him
watching the horse scream
tears came flowing from those slanted eyes
running to his lips, his chin.
Silent tears.

With my eyes, normal, glancing,
seeing what I was expected to see,
I backed away, not to disturb.
This museum, that chaotic scene
lent ownership to the boy.
My self-appreciation
rose as bile in my throat,
I dared not look again.


Ellen Porter
11/05/07
the winds and stars

Sophia, ancestor of wisdom
you wander wild paths
at my side

i yearn for you
inhabit my heart

you wander wild paths
and teach me the winds and stars
you are generous with your holy wisdom

i yearn for you
encircle my soul

you teach me the winds and stars
you walk at my side
never again will i be satisfied
wandering this astounding world alone

inhabit me
encircle me
generous wisdom of my hungry soul