Andrea Wyatt

Bare Feet on a Red Blanket


could have passed
this place out wandering
at night.
planted warm and clean
close with you
and by the window
tremor of green leaves
you—elbow propped—lying
on a blue and black bedspread
sometimes—on your back—
fists against your face,
bare feet
on a red blanket


National Gallery 9/11


taking a break
from the stop frame, stop
frame, stop frame images
of mangled steel from Wall Street
and across the river
from Arlington;
we stand at dusk
before Henry Moore’s
The Fallen Warrior
as workers inside the East Wing
toil with block & tackle,
positioning sculpture,
preparing for his retrospective;
smoke drifts from the first
oak wood fires of the season,
& we hear the strong
and steady beat of wings
as flocks of geese turn and wheel
and turn again across the sky.



Green Love


you have not aged,
present only in the quick turn
the swift burn of Spring;
I see you, a young girl’s love
her first love;
no thought your history
moved in time before me
would move to time beyond;
is it possible you exist?
prosaic and daily as the morning paper?
never for me;
you are green
about to become



Andrea WyattAndrea Wyatt’s first two books Three Rooms and Poems of the Morning, Poems of the Storm were published in Berkeley by Oyez, a press associated with Black Mountain and California Renaissance poets. Her third book Jurassic Night was published by White Dot Press. She co-edited Selected Poems by Larry Eigner,Collected Poems by Max Douglas, and The Brooklyn Reader. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, Clackamas, and Plum Tree Tavern. Wyatt works for the maintenance division of the National Park Service in Washington, DC and is associate editor of By&By poetry journal.

One thought on “Andrea Wyatt

  1. Spring has lasted beyond our usual time here in Louisiana. The green here so complex and multidimensional it boggles the mind. Young love —rekindled memories sparked by your words reminds me that Spring is always here before the heatwave.


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