Todd Davis
INDIAN SUMMER
after Andrew Wyeth’s “Indian Summer” (1970)
Wakes us on a day in the north
like a girl who has walked deep
into the woods and finds herself
among the shadows of tall pines,
the smallest patch of sky startled
at their tops. She stands
on a slab of granite, warmed
by a sun that is moving toward
some other place. I ask who,
feeling the heat jailed in stone,
would not shed clothes, white
of her bottom made that much more
white by the fading line summer
has drawn across the back?
. . .
BLACK WATER
after Andrew Wyeth’s “Black Water” (1972)
The farther north we travel the water
goes from blue to black. No cattle
to speak of, so even brown fades
with the memory of Pennsylvania.
In Maine summers run so short, skin
stays luminous as the moon,
and against the sand the sleeping
look as if they’ve drowned.
–from Rattle #27, Summer 2007
