One Single Impression: Blue

My uncle loved the work

Of Andrew Wyeth.

When I was young

He introduced me to

Christina's World:

A lonely woman in the dying grass

Leaning toward home

Yearning for home.

Her solitude is significant

She is in the foreground

And home is so far away.

He told me what he saw.

He asked me what I saw.

The same.

The lonely dignity was everything.

The impossibility, nothing.

Years later my uncle would hand me

His book on Wyeth.

I learned:

Christina had dragged herself into the studio.

She knew all about this work

But said nothing--

Just let the man tell his story.

My uncle said so little

When he opened his art books.

Just sat beside me

So we could see what we would.

Those were late summer days

When the sky was as blue as his eyes

And the story,

As plain as day.

One Single Impression