Blue Shadows Poem by Judith Skillman

Come around corners, towards you,
without intent. You are the figure the women
draw in a dark room, lights at their easels
casting halos. Their scrutiny does not equal
flirtation, not even a crush. Their hands
will be busy with brushes and Liquin.
Charcoal always loses out to oil. Fat over lean,
the winter will carve out your cheeks—
since you're naked take that in, use it
for a joke, a little laughter to warm your lungs
when the harshness of arctic snow comes
to the Northeast. Take up the shovel,
this time wearing a layer of silk under the down.
If you squint when you leave the studio
remember it will always be noon
in the land of radiation. Lord Raleigh is alive
and well. He walked out under the yellow sun
and could do nothing to stop sunlight's erasure,
albeit with complements, of these late crabapples
from city trees.