Winter, Andrew Wyeth, 1946

In Two Separate Pieces

Winter, Andrew Wyeth, 1946

Part 1
His earflaps slapping his face
he ran, stumbled,ran
down the hill
--towards something I could not see.

The bent crippled shadow crouched behind him,
waiting for its chance at life.
It doesn't even belong to him;
it only follows behind grabbing tidbits.

The hill will eat him-
if he stumbles.
Then the shadow will have nothing.
Nothing to cling to.


Part 2

Spring is coming to eat the boy in the earflap hat.
The snow has melted.
The hill looms ready.

The boy stumbles, his shadow crumples.
The wind bites his face and closes his eyes.
He runs blind, wondering where he will be.

Time stands still behind closed eyes.