Smug Shadow Poem by Hans Ostrom

When I was young, I didn't take
my shadow for granted much.
I looked for and at it. My preference
was that version roughly
proportional to my body. I felt

ludicrous when I saw the one
where my torso disappeared
and my legs grew to meet
my neck. I hardly ever look
at my shadow now. It just

never seemed to develop
into a major innovative
displacement of light. And
honestly, I'm tired of carrying
it around. At the same time:

no shadow, no me. It is
a kind of proof. Believe me,
my shadow's quite aware
that it's indispensable to my being.
It's a smug, insubstantial thing.



hans ostrom 2017