ANDREW WYETH, PAINTER, DIES AT 91

 

A weathered barn on a hilltop; a nude woman

sprawled on the slope

below.

 

A giant squid rises out of a hayfield, & the barn

is compassed in tentacles

then a cloud of ink.

 

A man with a fountain pen in his hand

& a pitchfork

in his back

 

walks the cow-path around the barn

& tells the beauty

on the hill

 

to step to it. It’s as if her freckled skin

is newly charcoaled

& the hayloft

 

a smokescreen. The cows can’t be heard for certain

within the inkblot

but deer

 

creep to the edge of the field on

delicate feet.

 

 

L.S. KLATT

 

This poem first appeared in The Believer and was reprinted in Best American Poetry 2011. It is collected in Cloud of Ink (University of Iowa Press, 2010) and is reprinted here with the author’s permission. Copyright L.S. Klatt 2010, all rights reserved.

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This motionpoem is presented in collaboration with Best American Poetry 2011 (Scribner), with thanks to David Lehman, series editor.