Dark Art Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

When the news is grim
And the walls seem to squeeze in
As if gravity is strengthening
And darkness is descending
How can I find the lightness to write?

If I were a painter,
Would my palette grow grey?
Would my subject matter change?
Would the heaviness within
Send my brushstrokes slashing
Into descending arcs of darkness?

But could it also magnify the light
Like chiaroscuro?
Could the yellow of the lemon
Appear fresher with the evergreen
Underneath enhanced?

Aren't all of our moods beautiful?
In their truth
In their depth
In their ability to magnify our self-perception?

As heavily as I weigh on myself these days,
I appreciate the loss of the illusion of continuity,
The belief that everything in my life
Could be sustained and built upon
As long as I maintained my present pace.

Work would be rewarded.
Health could be nurtured and preserved.
I would steer my life into the awaiting haven
Of a well-deserved retirement
At the time of my choosing.

But now the future opens like a maw.
The reality that anyone I love could be taken
At any time, as suddenly and randomly
As by a summer tornado, skipping
Through a strip of homes in the Midwest,
Fills me with a fear that might save me
From my own unpreparedness.

Maybe it is time to stop and take stock.
Maybe more of what was is not what I need.
Maybe I have more than I realize
And a pause in my relentless routine
Might give me the time to look around me
And prune away the distractions that obscure
The vital beauty of bare necessities.