Ellen Porter
2/24/08
Acceptance

I write a poem
three poems
and a wise one
enters my cell.

We meet each other
walking around the room
saying not a single word
but both of us
grinning and grinning!


Ellen Porter
2/24/08
Dr. Laukaitis

Margaret, my doctor,
enters the examining room
clearly late, as expected.

Blond hair, long as her shoulders
she comes up to my chin
and she smiles and speaks
as though she loves me
most of all her patients.

She tells me I will
probably die within six months
and reads the words of my poems
that she thinks will outlive me.

She reviews my body
inch by inch and
makes small adjustments
to ointments and pills.

I remind her
if things go as prophesized
I will see her only
three more times.

She takes both my hands in hers
and prays to her
loving, evangelical god.


Ellen Porter
1/30/08
Hospital Bed

My new bed
of steel frame—
I can adjust
the height of my head.
It lets me breathe.

My old bed
of comforting wood
and even mattress
lies taken apart
stored in a cupboard.

How can I stay angry
with this new bed
when I sleep nine hours
able to breathe?

We will try to be friends,.


Ellen Porter
1/31/08
Mendicant

I.

Living in the monastery
penning verse day after day
I am fed three meals
and don’t need my begging bowl.
Ryoken, come feast with me.


II.

You not only speak
as prophet and sage
but side by side
with Ryoken
you don the robes of the monk
and live your verse.
What grace it is to
brush by your shoulders
and grin.


Ellen Porter
3/13/0i8
Roast Pork and Spring Potatoes

Two women
welcomed to our table;
roast pork and spring potatoes.
Our hearts need nothing more.

Laughter fills the air
with word games:
óregáno and oregano,
alumínium and alúminum.

Two nations meet
across ocean depths:
no animosity or despair.

It is the women
bringing peace to the world,
our hearts too filled with joy
to sing war songs.


Ellen Porter
2/4/08
The Definition of Community

I.

They cared for her
enough to listen:
her elaborate tale of a
week’s visit to
an enchanted city.

She needed to tell it
to make it real;
and she called us back
if our minds or feet
wandered.

The magic of the telling
was not in the story
but in our love,
honor and holy inclusion
of the tale-bearer.
This is the definition
of community.


II.

She told her tale
and captured, we listened.
What holier love
is there to be found?


Ellen Porter
10/22/07
Traveling Home

Away from home
greeted by a palette of strangers
I stare out
timid, piercing
and see my illness, reflected,
flickering across those inquisitive faces.

I pack my boxes, nearing visit’s end,
clothes and medicine and myrrh
tucked away against my burial.

We will travel home today
and as the miles unwind
I will change, a chameleon
nearing water.
Lake Erie once again
holding safely in its wind waves
my translucent, malleable soul.