i s s u e: 1
// p o e t r y
Without Shadows
by Christine Potter
A week of rain, a week without shadows, with
shadows lost in the velvety grass and the
earth spongy underfoot. With daylight soft as
an old white sheet. With no one taking a star
turn in the long rays of sunset or dawn. With no
stars. With night showing up like your mother
in her old green car, rolling down the window to
lean out and call you: Want a ride up the hill?
I just ran out for a few groceries. With her
headlights double moons in the gathering dusk,
under the plum-black, cloudy sky. Of course
you’d get in, even though she’s four years gone.
Even though you’re halfway dreaming it, half
remembering. Even though tomorrow you’ll
wake to an overflow of morning, horizon zipped
into its blue and brass uniform, and ruthlessly in
love with the new. Its bright world begins at
the tip of a shadow. And likely includes even you.
about the author // Christine Potter
| Christine Potter (she/her) is the poetry editor of Eclectica Magazine. She has had work lately in Rattle, ONE ART, Grain, The McNeese Review, The Red Eft Review, and Autumn Sky Poetry Daily. She lives with her chonky cat Bella and her husband in a very old house in the lower Hudson Valley. Her last poetry collection, Unforgetting, is published by Kelsay Press and her young adult novels, The Bean Books, are on Evernight Teen. |
Instagram: @chrispygal
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