In Grandma Hale’s Painting, Which She Gave Me, by Richard Widerkehr

Untitled, by Maud Hale. Provided by the author.

In Grandma Hale’s Painting, Which She Gave Me

Nothing can keep the white farmhouse 
from floating in moonlit smoke from a black locomotive.

The molten orange field 
in an invisible sun whose gold haystacks 
can't stop glowing. 

The sun, the moon, a brother and sister, 
two black-and-white cows--

near one's nose, a bee 
almost big as the incredulous bonnet 
our Grandma’s cousin Millie

wore in the asylum on Long Island. 
I never wanted children, our Mom told me. 

Oh white triangle of fruit trees, 
oh red barn roof.

Say what you want about the Jews--
they make good family men, 
said Grandma. 

The place inside the barn. 

Oh frozen cherry trees. Oh two white silos.

Richard Widerkehr
​
​This poem first appeared at Open: A Journal of Arts & Letters.

Richard Widerkehr’s fourth book of poems is Night Journey (Shanti Arts Press, 2022).  At The Grace Cafe (Main Street Rag) came out in 2021. His work has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Writer’s Almanac, Atlanta Review, and over 50 others  He won two Hopwood first prizes for poetry at the University of Michigan.   He reads poems for Shark Reef Review and enjoys singing and playing guitar.