Art and writing by Sophie Gregorace
A Shadow
In the corner of my eye.
There she is once again.
Roaming the halls,
Trailing the walls,
Always lurking.
She peers through doorways,
Sits on the staircase,
Stands on the kitchen counter,
Leans over my shoulder.
I avert my gaze
and ignore her tantrums.
I have seen her form before.
If I were to lay my eyes on her again,
She would pounce —
Smothering, tormenting, hopeless.
I hear her footsteps in the attic,
Relentless and loud,
Frantically looking for attention,
For a place to settle in.
But I do not let her.
I try not to let her.
If I am not careful,
A whisper turns into a screech,
A footstep, a cacophony,
A faint entity, a smothering wretch.
She laments and wails,
A child, inconsolable,
Dragging me into her anguish,
Into the person I used to be.
But I do not let her.
I try not to let her.
And yet, she stays.
Roaming the halls,
Trailing the walls,
Always lurking.
An essence
Outside my kitchen window.
There she is once again,
Phantasmal and resplendent.
I catch glimpses of her
In the garden,
Tending to the sage and edelweiss.
In her faint presence, I can make out
A few wrinkles,
Crows feet, and their source —
Always a calm smile.
She is content.
I hear her humming as she
Knocks on my door,
A light tap tap tap,
Wanting more water for the flowers.
When the Shadow does not look,
I let her in.
She tells me of her garden,
Of the aloe I have never seen up close,
And the frequenting aphids that
disturb her blooms, nibbling on the
Chrysanthemum leaves.
Despite the pests,
her garden remains ever radiant,
Captivating and brilliant.
She tells me she does not hurt them,
trap them, or flick them off the stems.
She takes care of them.
And with this,
A metamorphosis ensues.
With wings
dazzling in the afternoon sun,
Iridescent butterflies pollinate her flowers.
A thump.
There she is once again.
It is time for my visitor
to take her leave.
Melancholy washes over me
As she smiles with
Eyes like mine
And opens the door
back to her garden.
Louder footsteps.
Now, among her sprouts,
I watch the spirit lean down
and take a small insect
In her hand.
She closes her other hand
On top
And kisses her knuckles.
Running down the hall.
Already trying to escape,
A butterfly emerges from her hands
And lands on a
Forget-me-not.
She has been doing this for a while now.
Pounding feet
Coming down the stairs
I am still watching my visitor
As the Shadow makes her way
Into the kitchen with me.
Tears in her eyes,
Ready to scream and flail,
I take a breath.
I face her,
outstretch my arms,
and smile.