Ellen Porter
12/15/97
Coming Home

We trekked the mud flats
tidal low, remembering
the crushing waves
an hour past.

It was the terminus
of vacation
the boy and I running free
across the ocean’s narrow face.

We ran from starfish and anemone
from the lightning phosphorescence of plankton
the gills of fish.
We ran toward town.

Our duffels and treasures packed
we joined the unnecessary elders
and rode homeward.

I waited to tell stories to
my eager mother, my siblings
while the boy
closed his eyes, his mouth
with no one to listen
but me.


Ellen Porter
9/20/07
God is Out of Touch
after Hafiz)

Lying in the hammock
I am exhausted.
My heart
a rusted out watering can.

The Beloved is on vacation.
When will She bring back
Her ridiculous smile?


Ellen Porter
12/04/07
Kim, Trying to Visit

She waited in the airport
seven hours stolen out of
the tapestry of her day.

No black ponds to reflect
her fading reflection
back to her for safe-keeping.

No blue forget-me-nots
or golden columbine
to keep her soul attached
to her body abandoned
to cold, hard chairs
and calculated time.

She lingered with tears
for seven, nine, ten
squandered hours
and then ceded the game
and fell back in weighted sleep
on foreign, smoky pillows
of hotel reprise.

I wonder if she will ever fly
the skyways again
or if this abandonment of self
is too expensive to risk
the devastating loss of
image and the slow curling dance
of time toward death.


Ellen Porter
11/28/07
Out of Respect

If I were like another poet
I wouldn’t mind pulling on
rainproof boots, Christmas-old mittens
and beleaguering coat.
I wouldn’t mind gripping the door handle
and pushing through the icy shock
of that first bit of bitter air.

If I were like another poet
I’d go ‘round the paths
naming…that is what she does…
names the birds and trees and sticky weeds
making them her own.
And from that owning
her poems creep forth.

But, it becomes obvious,
I am not like that other poet.
My words, the trickle of my imagination,
come from belly deep, warming from the inside out.
I may never be that other poet
to whom children and poets bow obeisance,
but my words will be true,
erupting from my word-pregnant belly,
they will be true.


Ellen Porter
10/08/07
taking leave

on ordinary mornings i watch tranquil
dark ebbing toward translucent dawn

i read the poets
the great ones
fashioning words and styles and lines
for imitation’s sake
my mind quiet and long.

but today she is taking leave
my sister
and thoughts dart through the dark
like blackbirds
i will not see her soon again
my spirit churning, awaiting
her imminent departure
no time yet for the inevitable dawn


Ellen Porter
11/30/07
The Time is Coming

The time is coming
when I will no longer
seek rest and meals with assorted
strangers and well-meaning friends.

Conversations may turn to angry tirade
or tiresome accolade
and meanwhile I am dying.

Solitude is a far better trek,
the spoor of fatigue avoided.

A roomful of people
and though each one born will die
no one here has yet
and perhaps I am closest to that ascent.

Still it is best to suffer it in shadow,
testing the direction like wind off a sail.


Ellen Porter
9/19/07
You Think I am in Love
(after Hafiz)

You think I am in love
with one person
but the Beloved laughs.
She holds me by my ankles
turns me upside down and
S
H
A
K
E
S
There is enough love here
for the whole world!