Shadow Knows

By Tiare Devenot

 

My shadow

comes early

in the mornings,

her skin glows in rays,

not brighter than eyes, alert

like dew. She could catch the sun

with a quick snapping grin,

teeth polished like pearls

on a string.

 

She wrote this poem, already 

in the green house, this morning. 

Words flowed like wine

she shared with beetles

and bees—

she watched

yours drown

to the bottom

of a mug,

like filthy little

black grains.

 

In the night she stays up

with sharks over smoky tables

illuminated by low lamps

that interrogate hidden cards

at the breast.

Her eyes shoot like darts, but

never tell. She fans a winning

hand to ash a cigar and

take the pot.

 

My shadow stays up with the moon

on emerald velvet and fish bowls

of copper cognac. She dances into

silk and lace, to dizzying

records of jazz. Hungry

paws pounce after her,

as she toys, a

string of white

feathers to

please.