Walking into the sun
My shadow always waits behind me
Calm and quiet.
It doesn’t look like me–
It’s usually shorter
And doesn’t worry about its weight.
But my shadow sings to itself
Lullabies and spirituals
Softer than the wind can hear.
If someone were to paint my portrait
They wouldn’t include my shadow
But it would be there
Blending in with the brown of my eyes
And the underside of my hair.
My shadow may be dark
But it has clouds under its skin.