Shannon's Intro Poem!

Sorry for the delay! I'm so excited to be here.

Happy holidays!

Self-Portrait in White While Viewing Salvador Dalí’s Figura en una finestra

—Reina Sofia museum, Madrid

Like me, Dalí hid his grievances
in the hem of the girl’s dress,

in the thick, blue stripes
running down her back.

In art, they call mistakes
or a change of mind

mid-stroke pentimento.

I call it silence: the white

light hollowing me from

the inside out.

Nine years old, I sat

by my father on the front

porch watching

lightning slice the sky.

We had run out of
things to say.

Me, his greatest mistake:
a daughter, not a son.

Him, mine. A father

I could no longer talk to.

If grief were a color,

it would be white. I’m sure of it.

The girl in the painting

leans against the windowsill. 

What was she thinking?

Atmospheric perspective,

the illusion of depth on canvas.

The window opens

onto the Mediterranean,

a sailboat, and mountains.

In the glass pane,

I glimpse the reflection

of a small white house

in the distance.

If only I could step through

the canvas, climb out

the window and over waves

to this doorstep.

Then I would turn the brass

doorknob and feel

my way through this strange,

yet not altogether unfamiliar space.

I would call the girl, sister.

This place, my home.