What the Shadow Cat Said

Sunlight hits a narrow

bookshelf, shapes

a perfect cat shadow--

ears and legs and all.

This cat doesn't move.

Its assumed eyes stare.

Its supposed mouth opens

to accuse perception

of being little more

than a collage of simulations,

reactions to effects, habits

of getting it wrong. 

And who am I, 

watching the wall,

behind the books, to

contradict a shadow cat?

hans ostrom 2021

Smug Shadow

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

Shadow Storage

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Shadow Storage

Home now out of sun,
you may take off your shadow,
hang it in the closet holding
other shades, or roll it up
and tuck it in a drawer.

It weighs nothing, your shadow.
Yet you feel it dragging. It's
an unsavory presence, attracting
worry, shame, regret, and doubt,
so that by the time you end a day,
you feel as heavy as two people.

It is a uniform fashion, a required
implication of light and depth.
So say the regulators, anyway--
those unamused members
of the psyche's council.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom