Turning Away

I stand in front of my father's work; How I look for myself and bring my story And still it is not heard. Nothing here To tell me what to believe. Nothing But color, shapes he has seen, Taken for meaning. Frames, a roomful Of what was done without me. Once a man And woman lay under the many stars In a moment of one particular Over another, which becomes the way Of the world, which is why he left Again and again, which is how she kept me Until it was time. With all I have I approach each painting. If I stare long enough Something begins to move. If I look away even then The image refuses to leave; wherever I turn, Always in the middle of all that white.