Shadows
They chase
race
attached to our feet
Seldom out of sight
Except at night
When their darkness usurps
all light
And they become huge
Filling the room
They are unstoppable
I once spoke to a man
who lived every day with
the spectre of the barrel of a gun
shoved into his mouth
as a child by his mother
Could taste the metal on his teeth
at odd times
and sweat
There were other things there too
that lurked just out of view
His shadows came to find him
in the dark
to grow large
chased back by whisky drunk
The genie in the bottle
Released
to mottle
throttle
muffle
contain
the shadows
and chase them back
for awhile
But they were attached to his feet
With stitches neat and strong
all the wrongs
that he couldn’t let go of
Inevitably he would succumb in sleep
become
The boxer that leaps
dancing around the ring
shadow boxing
moving his feet
throwing punches
at nothing
We all have shadows
things that live in our past
Bruises that bloom deep and dark
unseen and hidden
under the skin
attached to our feet
they walk around like they own the place
own us
when they are meaningless things
less than dust
a shadow following
swallowing the light at our side
trailing behind
hiding from the sun
Chase them
You’ll never catch them
It is better to stand
square
and
look
them
in their blank nothing faces
Tell them in their useless brainless spaces
I
see
you
and
you
are
nothing
Even a chair casts a shadow
I’ve been ruminating on shadows all week.
Scrolling through Facebook the other day, I saw a video of a little girl who is quietly munching on an ice cream when she discovers her shadow for the first time and then becomes truly terrified of it – and you can see why as it seemingly chases and follows her as she runs frantically trying to escape.
Shadows, the past, memories – all “nothing” things that can assume great importance depending on how we think about them – how much weight we lend them.
How do we escape shadows?
It is seemingly impossible.
As I watched that little girl leap and run and cry trying to get away from hers, I thought of Peter Pan tackling down his escaped shadow and sewing it back on to his feet.
I’m not sure I would chase mine.
I’m just not sure I would bother.
But I am lucky – for I have a choice.
