One Sunflower Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

A single, thick stalk stands
In a half-full glass,
The stem bending in the refraction
Of the clear, still water
Reminding us of the properties of light.

The face turned modestly in profile,
Its head as heavy as it is yellow,
Its beauty is in its strength,
Its purity of purpose
In a world of decorative deceptions.

As the artist pares down the superfluous,
He curates my perception of what is left,
He draws my eye with highlights and surprises,
With a tinge of pink in the depths of the glass
Or a dash of apricot where the light glints on it.

He does not want me to praise his performance.
He does not want to amaze me with his skills
Or amuse me with his clever choices
Or his whimsical sense of fantasy.

He wants me to see.
He wants me to retrieve the power of my own eyes
To appreciate subtle colors, textures and changes in light
From my quotidian scrolling, streaming, photosnapping, shallowness.

He makes me stop and gaze.
He makes me remember to be still,
To empty myself of the buzz of the news,
The tick tock of deadlines
The grumbling of my stomach
Impatient for lunch.

And for a moment I wonder -
Why this subject?
Why these colors?
Why this slant to the light?

And I am transported,
Away from my workplace,
Or the train or my own home,
To a sunny studio
Where a man sits,
At ease with himself,
At one with his subjects,
Lost in the mixing of the colors
He will use to express
Real ideas in a serious medium.

And in a world where only money seems to matter,
He is creating wealth that I pray will be appreciated
For generations to come.