In The Barn This Night

photoart: ralph murre

In The Barn This Night

by Ellen Kort

Earth man

God of the soil

in the barn this night

hunched over

on wooden stool

wiping your mouth

of barn whiskey

and sweat    stroking

cow in labor

Animal sounds

smell of birth

lifting the calf

the dead weight

cold hide

all bones

animal skin calf

The lantern

parts darkness

as you breathe

slowly

towards

the house

all the world

sleeping

and the whiskey’s

not strong enough

and your bed

will not

warm this night

~ first published in There is Something Ancient Here

   (Woelfinger Press)

IF DEATH WERE A WOMAN

photo: ralph murre

IF DEATH WERE A WOMAN
by Ellen Kort

I'd want her to come for me
smelling of cinnamon. . wearing
bright cotton. . purple maybe. . hot
pink. . a red bandanna in her hair

She'd bring good coffee. . papaya juice
bouquet of sea grass. . saltine crackers
and a lottery ticket. . We'd dip
our fingers into moist pouches

of lady slippers. . crouch down to see
how cabbages feel when wind bumps
against them in the garden
We'd walk through Martin's woods

find the old house. . its crumbling
foundation strung with honeysuckle
and in the front yard. . a surprise
jonquils. . turning the air yellow

glistening and ripe. . still blooming
for a gardener long gone. . We'd head
for the beach. . wearing strings of shells
around our left ankles. . laugh

at their ticking sounds. . the measured
beat that comes with dancing
on hard packed sand. . the applause
of ocean and gulls. . She'd play

ocarina songs to a moon almost full
and I'd sing off key. . We'd glide
and swoop. . become confetti of leaf fall
all wings. . floating on small whirlwinds

never once dreading the heart -
silenced drop. . And when it was time
she would not bathe me. . Instead
we'd scrub the porch. . pour left over

water on flowers. . stand a long time
in sun and silence. . then. . holding hands
we'd pose for pictures in the last light

~ Previously published in If Death Were A Woman
(Fox Print, Inc.)