I confess. We entered the museum to see hand-carved duck decoys.
How easily I imagined rumpy carthorses pulling the Webb caleche
in the roundbarn down slushy New York streets. One wicker casket
to haul a body in the horse-drawn hearse on a hot day.
Then the Wyeth painting in the room of its own –
curators mounted it as a lone window into winter.
The mind’s eye hangs over simple snowy pastures
as vultures twirl, wide-reached acrobats,
haunting splendors far above the bleached farmyard.
Its own gray room, the painting has, with rows of pews,
churchy so I hover over feathered scavengers,
all-seeing of snow and gray hills unto the horizon.
Perhaps the wingeds’ nonchalance is part braggadocio,
how drawn clouds ignore the bland workings
of man for the magnificence of a wake of vultures.
Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet who owns a small peninsula on a pond in Vermont. The Shelburne Museum is a nearby treasure. Knoll's chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press) features the interactions of humans and wildlife in urban habitat. Ocean's Laughter (Aldrich Press) features lyric and eco-poetry of place about a small town on Oregon's north coast. Website: triciaknoll.com
The Ekphrastic Review
Find a writer, artist, or poem, etc. by searching here:
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies.Opt Out of Cookies