Grey Scales, The View

Blue troubles whatever it touches, 
and makes it go low. The color theory 
of red is so dense a mere speck stains 
every other color, for better or for
worse, and is best kept on a separate 
palette. There is no going back. We are 
all textures, all hues, David Hockney, 
one day, Caravaggio, the next. Colors
have character. What choice 
do they have but to trigger 
what it is they do. Fidelity, for example
is yellow, like the sun. Yellow, the highest 
“hue” can’t, alone, be lightened, 
if you add too much. If you do, everything 
in the day goes low. If this happens 
there is no fixing it. You must white it out, 
start again. I begin each day passing
through negative space, my view. 
From this height I see the arches of a bridge 
spanning two banks, left to right, 
in black and white, the color of noise, 
construction, under it. I pray for the silence 
that comes when the bridge workers 
break for lunch. One by one, they shut one box
then open another. 

ELAINE SEXTON

Elaine Sexton’s fourth collection of poetry is Drive (Grid Books, 2022). Her poems, reviews, essays, and visual art have appeared widely in journals including American Poetry Review, Poetry, and Art in America. A critic, maker, and micro-publisher, she teaches at the Sarah Lawrence College Writing Institute. Learn more at elainesexton.org.