A Shadow
quick poem, written while reading a really pretty fantastic manuscript at work
A Shadow
Is proof for the sun,
for my infinite ability
to make awkward
a greeting.
I was raised better
than to block a pilgrim:
thin and sorefooted
rays beaming across a million miles,
across the deep blue
of space,
only for me to cut in
like one of those devils
who don’t see I am holding
the door for some waiting old lady,
rude, or
maybe I shouldn’t,
shouldn’t shrink from the
blockage, maybe the sun
was reaching so far, reaching
out like you and me
that one summer,
that one long break
from school, buying tickets and waiting
at terminals, reaching
and waiting
waiting and
reaching for the
patient pleasure of
a kiss,
finally pressed
to bare shoulders.