she needs silver needle rain
upon her shiver skin
to startle her away from
frequency of hand sewn quilts
and layered down fill pillows
and she craves stove brewed Arabica
in a thick ceramic; her narrow fingers
tight embrace the radiating heat;
she breathes its draught of steam mist
and thinks the pitch of darkness
and grows turnip, carrot, parsnip
earthy things to blacken in a skillet
and tumble to a pewter plate; she
jars pickles…soaks beets in vinegar
and salt and bitter herbs
she needs the prick of cat claws
upon her thighs and knees…
and disdains the warm wet slop
of dog lick on her hands
would choose a harpsichord than harp
and do away with birth day…and
lines on maps…and forced smiles; she
lives beside the sea for its tempestuous
Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Andrew Wyeth
“Corner of the Woods” 1954
Proem... 
One who is independent and lives by her rules – good for her. Great poem, you did justice to Wyeth’s painting.
I’m grateful you saw this in it, Sharon. Thank you very much for writing a comment. Wyeth does influence me. Smiles…
This one is like a soothing balm…
Dear friend…that you should say so is important to me. Smiles…
Wow! It’s almost like a movie – I can picture every beautiful detail.
Then, I could not hope for more. Smiles, Nancy!
A tumbling study of sensation as metaphor,metaphor as sensation. Most eloquently discomforting! And so very subtle distinctions that build the emotional character! A gem. ( By the by: i read your ‘browse’ list as a comment on this poem- the silence between words
a Picasso kind of love
so tight a frame.
Spooky and apt!
Perhaps serendipity, Simon. A found poem for those who know to search. I deeply value your comment.
such an interesting portrait. you have written the poem so vividly that i think of her as a person i would like to know, even though she would be prickly at times. as i keep looking through the poem i am struck with its physicality. until the last stanza each section provides sensory details. i also see how the short “i” sounds predominate in terms such as “shiver skin” and “fill pillows.” i, too, wrote poems in response to Andrew Wyeth’s paintings, but many years ago, and not nearly with the quality of this poem.
Dear Michael Jack OBrien..yes, the last stanza. Perhaps one day I shall understand it. Until then, I’m eternally, yes that, grateful you noticed. Smiles. Bonnie