Cold Shoulder

An Ekphrastic Sonnet

By D. J. ReddallPublished 7 months ago • Updated 7 months ago • 1 min read

Andrew Wyeth, "April Wind," 1952

I can hear you reading my tattered coat

Scanning the map of my wild poverty

Finding a way to send this tree, my boat

Into a cold and solitary sea

Chocolate eyes gazed at me fondly, once

A smooth, pale back arched in response to me

I had the sunny, mad smile of a dunce

Ripe for betrayal and sharp mockery

My informal education is done

My notes can be read on my coughing heart

The other human beings are no fun

They've turned tormenting me into an art

The brick wall of my back is all they'll see

Wind scolded, cleanly detached, blue of knee

I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.

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