Nuance

It seems our own plainspoken mother tongue
had not the pow’r to capture in a word
the essence of a concept so subdued,
and so it stole the phrasing from the French
and, hence, the term (not meaning) found its way
into the trendy parlance of our day.

Ambiguous gradations so obscure
they often fade beneath the zeal of claims—
especially now, when lines are drawn so sharp,
and patience yields to haste and nuance drowns.
When circumstance and context have no sway,
we cast in black and white a world of gray.

But what of Rothkos, memories, and poems?
What of the dim-lit sheen of rain at dusk?
For even black admits degrees of shade.
Light is not fixed, but dances, splits, refracts—
both particle and wave, with motion hued,
and what it is depends on how it’s viewed.

The very shape of space itself is curved;
it bends and folds. And absolutes are rare;
continuums, the rule. The Universe
sings out in mazy modulating chords,
a wondrous cosmic hymn that e’er ascends
proclaiming to the world: it all depends.

Sharlee Mullins Glenn has published articles, essays, poetry, and criticism in periodicals as varied as Women’s Studies, The Southern Literary Journal, the New York Times, and Ladybug Magazine. She is also a nationally-published author of children’s books. She and her husband, James, live in Pleasant Grove, Utah and have five children and nine (perfect) grandchildren.