Shadow of Myself
This morning you caught me
trying to pick up a shadow
from the breakfast table,
I, not quite knowing
what shade of self
it was that,
lying there,
eclipsed the sun.
It was as if from within
a neighbouring house
which each day we’d passed as children,
but from which we had never seen
a leaving or an entering,
one day we heard music, voices.
I walked up the
steps, turned the key.
The door opened.
I went in.
Happy
Some days he’s happy.
On Thursdays, he’s happy.
When I leave home on work days,
wheel my bike from
the shed,
wave to him one last goodbye,
he’s looking almost jaunty,
wearing his favourite striped tie.
On these days, he’s up early,
sings on his way to the bathroom,
has time for no more than one coffee,
one toast, then
hurries out to the kitchen, drags
a high stool across the room
as far as the window.
Neighbours say he stays
at the window
at least until lunchtime
and sometimes my brother
comes very much
later.
If passers by wave to him,
he doesn’t see them.
My father never takes his eye off the road.
This poem was published in January 2016 in the online journal, Ink, Sweat and Tears. It was
one of six poems shortlisted for the "Pick f the Month".
Comments on the rest of the shortlist included:Diana Brodie, Happy
Spare and precise expression, moving and surprising, mysterious and thought-provoking.
…it
left a mark in my mind which remained with me long after I had finished reading all the poems.