For us to see the shape of the light, we need shadows

Frieda Hughes tries to find joy again after being betrayed

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If I paint the diary of a day in my life as the hours close,

The blues and yellows of my joy, or reds and blacks of my despair

Wrestle their trails across the canvas. I console myself

That if misery is not illuminated by some small happiness,

Or joy is not backlit by some unwanted occurrence