We paint the basement walls blue,
the floor green. It is still a basement,
still dark and grotty, dust falling
from the rafters, from the passage
of people overhead. I feel silly, but
take comfort when a contractor
stopping by compliments me – he’s
seen a lot of basements, after all;
he should know. We are underground
with the treadmill, the weight bench;
this is not yoga on a beach, or in a forest,
but the colors are reminiscent. In Chicago,
with two small kids and a job, there isn’t
much time for yoga on the beach, even
when it’s warm enough. My theory is
that beauty makes it better. It is almost
everything. Your children, your partner,
your home in winter when the walls
are pressing in, are all easier to tolerate
when you find them beautiful. There’s not
much you can do about your children,
your partner (their appearance) beyond
insisting on baths and the brushing of teeth.
But paint can almost make an ocean, a forest,
and bright blue laces can make you want to run.
*****