Eschewal: A Response to Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World

I know you
were searching for the words,
because I look at you
and see that

the trees were as patient
and observant as they always were.
The pasture was
as wide as the hot,
cloudless welkin, and

the old farm house at the crest
of the horizon has much
to say under its breath.

All the words are inside,
a glint on the windowpanes.
It stirs, disquieted
with all its talk.

Give way, so that your hips
can touch the dirt,
so that your back
may unfold in the tall grasses,
so you might admire
the curve
of each blade.

Let it grow
over you, so you can hide
in refuge
from the reticence.



19. May 2009