What colors paint
pandemic?
The wood pallette,
streaked with some
dried oils that
stubbornly defied
turpentine, did not
want darkness and
fear hues.  Sable
brushes with a
faint odor of linseed
oil stood ready.
Protective mask,
fitted vinyl gloves
seemed out of place
near an easel used
to hold stretched
canvas.  Fear, in
twenty-twenty,
would not be
recorded by my
tools.  I opened
the tube of cadmium
yellow squeezing
sunlight instead
of anxiety.

– Lois Greene Stone

Note: This poem was first published in May 2020 by Scarlet Leaf Review.