her paintings are modest, hold back
reveal themselves slowly, over time
as your eyes adjust to their tranquil light
in folds and niches she concealed them:
silks of countries changed forever
bits of wheat fields
laces of streams and, I happen to know,
a mountain, entire
the fabric of her life is woven
into grass and soil
beneath the placid horses
lazing or grazing in the surface sun
and did you notice
the Sandhill cranes just arriving
or have they just left
3 comments:
Hi Merita,
I see a new direction in you poems. It's a small one but I definitely see it. Your poems are not so abstract and they don't seem as much of an observation. They have more emotion. Well, your other poems had emotion, sometimes it was powerful, so maybe that's not the right word I mean to use. Maybe "warmth" is a better choice.
I see this woman in her artwork. I see a person that I understand because you know and admire her.
It's a nice change. This seems more personal.
I see a new direction in YOUR poems.
Good grief, Connie didn't spell check before she clicked the published button.
I've been trying to say this for years--it finally came together
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