We are sitting at opposite ends of our kitchen table—your right profile, my left— to the wide picture window, when one morning Edward Hopper comes knocking— rap rap rapping his knuckles on the plate of our dusty, bug-specked window. He squints against the glare. Let me in! he mouths. I have my paints, my canvas, my easel! Cupping his face in his hands, he leans against the glass like a snoopy salesman. Do we hear his plea? I’m not sure. Is he remembering the time he painted us in a Chinese restaurant in NYC? We were so pale then, not even yet married. Background, untested, of limited interest. All that was visible of me was my mouth, my white nose, a red beret covered my hair. You held a cigarette and bent over an ashtray or a teacup. Smoking or drinking, I can’t recall. Your visage in shadow, your dark jacket muted, your neck and wrists framed in white cotton. Does Edward Hopper see our insignificance, once again, as he steps back into the sunlight? His brown felt hat flies into the pecan with a sudden cold and dusty updraft. The sun blanketed by an incredible gathering of grackles. The beacon of our bright yellow tablecloth fades. Our empty salad bowls float, become fishing boats returning to harbor. You say, Mr. Hopper, Mr. Hopper, please come in. Like a dog licking peanut butter, I try to explain perspective, the vanishing point, here, the lines in our cheeks, across our foreheads, an apt analogy.
Diane Hueter is a Seattle native now living in Lubbock,Texas—a place with very blue skies and very little rain. Her poetry has appeared in The Carolina Quarterly, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, and Iron Horse Review. Her book After the Tornado (2013) was published by Stephen F. Austin University Press. Diane attended the Community of Writers poetry workshop (a truly transformative experience) and her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
**We do our best to preserve the integrity of each poem; however, due to programming limitations, some poems may read differently on a mobile phone and in certain browsers. For best viewing, use Chrome on a desktop/laptop.