"Winter Fields," 1942 —Andrew Wyeth

To view Winter Fields is to feel your face
pressed to the ground, the grass

lace-like, the black crow,
the distant trees & structures on the horizon

focus to distort. & the chokecherries
glow, beacon clues brighter for a background

of blue-black feathers. The worm’s eye view.

Some say the crow is frozen,

rigor mortis set on dead landscape.
I swear it’s poisoned. Wyeth’s light

makes chokecherries

look at least half-ripe, even a clever
crow, a very hungry, clever crow would be duped.

The crow, at best, is resting, if crows rest in line
with horizon, his claws crossed.

I know this call of winter.

How the body longs to lie down.

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Suzanne Frischkorn is the author of Lit Windowpane (2008), Girl on a Bridge (2010), and five chapbooks. Her poems have appeared in Copper Nickel, Diode, Ecotone, Indiana Review, North American Review, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. She is the recipient of the Aldrich Poetry Award for her chapbook, Spring Tide, selected by Mary Oliver, an Emerging Writers Fellowship from the Writer’s Center, and an Individual Artist Fellowship from the Connecticut Commission on Culture and Tourism.