Backdrop Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The sun has painted a square on the bedroom wall
Her small hand touches the surface
Her eyes widen as the finger ghosts

She has just noticed the follower.
The strange distorted follower
That is shadow.
‘Shadow, ' I say.
‘Shadow.'

Turning, she toddles over to her cushion
Unzips it, pulls out fistfuls of white fluff
‘Cloud, ' she says, ‘cloud.'
Her small mouth curves like a melon slice
Showing the white seeds of her teeth