Anna Mary Robertson


I think of her often


She had cooked and cleaned

And run a farm and

Put up guests;

She sold the produce of her

Land and made

And sold potato chips

Of all things;


And in her seventies, she thought

She’d try to paint

Depicting life as it had come to


Someone who had a way

Espied her work in a place,

Thought it

Ready for

The nation—

It was:


To give it a name,

Call it simple, call it native, naïve,

Call it primitive.

She spoke through all the plains she painted,

And we listened.


Her last name was

And is


And she had the better part

Of all of us;

Like her namesake, she

Led in prophecy

And simple, mere

World-changing delight,

A commemoration and a celebration

Of what is

Colorful and real and



C L Couch


photo found at WikiArt