Tish Davis

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA so manyso far from homewinter rain I’m an American in China working to restart the supply chain disabled by the worst flooding in Thailand in half a century.translating work instructions—the universal languageof the office clockAs I walk through the narrow aisle between the cubicles, a woman calls to me from one of the window-lit offices reserved for visitors. It’s one of the Thai engineers.  She’s extraordinarily petite and in her conservative blue dress, reminds me of Bemelmans’ Madeline.  After rummaging through a paper bag, she presents me with a gift—a small package of white…

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA The African Violets are about to bloom on the sill next to her bed. She taught me how to split these plants in two and how to stimulate the roots by pouring water into the dish that holds the clay pot. Sometimes when I visit, she cuts a slit in a small square of heavy paper and then inserts a single leaf.  She always asks me to add the water to the glass jar.On this first Mother’s Day without my mom, I try to surprise this other one.  After the nurse wheels my friend to…

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA FirefliesLight beamersNever tellStory-keepers Youthful frolicMoon minorsMemory flickersOld-timers Keepsake lanternsSummer starsAlways releasedFrom these glass jars

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USAA few rose petals have fallen away from the vase that rests on the patient’s night table. I add water to rejuvenate the stems, but it’s hopeless. The flowers are dead. The elderly woman tells me that she enjoyed watching the flowers change. She always grew roses in her garden.  She drifts into detail—of pouring boiling water over the soil to sterilize it, of covering flats with a screen to protect the grains from mice and ants.  Sometimes, the containers would spend a second winter outside to give the slower seeds another chance to germinate.…

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA Lake Erie—blue water and sky become one. I sit in the sand not farfrom the place along the channel where my father and I used to fish.The beach is smaller now, cluttered with garbage cans and signs.The driftwood too, scattered along the edge, entangled with leaves andplastic bottles. The gulls return again and again to the edge of the pier as they didwhen we cast our lines. My father would tell the same story every timeI was bored. The Iroquois, a confederation of five nations -- Seneca,Cayuga, Onodaga, Oneida, Mohawk—defeat the Eries . .…

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA as blood seepsfrom the soldiers’ earshandmade bone dicetumble out of crevicesin the hastily built stone wall After touring the museum, I ride the escalator up and onto the battlefield.  An attendant directs the crowd into the chaos silently motioning us to step in closer, to step down onto the dimly lit viewing platform that encircles Philippoteaux’s, Battle of Gettysburg. I stand, by chance, near an exploding caisson.  Wood bites from a splintered carriage carve jagged cuts deep in my skin; gunpowder dust—brushed hot and thick—swells my lungs. A wild eyed gelding— riderless, powerful legs in…

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio A local artist sketches him in full Indian headdress.   At the entrance to the trail, two painters read the short biography about Bill Moose before setting up their easels along the north rim.  A viewing platform overlooks the ravine where brown leaves ferment along the bank of a stream.  Glacial erratics are scattered along the bottom— fallen warriors on flat limestone. Indian Run Falls, heard but not seen.  Voices in the abandoned village. I’m a few steps behind carrying my camera.  The sunlight is filtered by Maple, Blue Ash, Shagbark Hickory.  An occasional opening…