Shadow Self
by Sara Lynn Eastler
“...it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me.” —J.M. Barrie
You could grasp this darkling by its dainty, pulsing neck,
squeeze with all the strength in your vices and crush
the accordion space where vocal cords might be, hold it
below the water’s tight skin, peppered with pollen. You
could try to skirt its boneblurred nature in the sediment
where algae and exoskeletons decay, but a putridness
might follow you home; it is, after all, your creation. You
could cane this thing that drifts across your consciousness—
passing thunderhead formed of the formless that splits
to allow your violent stick to pass through as if it were
the phantom. But the wandering dread will still brush catlike
against your ankle among the sugarcane. Tucked neatly
in your bedside drawer, a folded-up shadow still plots
its course. No thread can fix a wretched soul in place. No
lathering of soap can cleanse it of what you’ve done. It
knocks about behind the vertical rock face of your back,
stabs away from you when the light burns. Your shadow
awaits your embrace, knowing it may never, never land.
Sara Lynn Eastler is the Poetry Editor for Qu Literary Magazine and a freelance contributor to the Southern Review of Books. Her poetry has recently been published in Cagibi, SoFloPoJo, Passengers Journal, Anodyne, and Lucky Jefferson. She has an MFA from Queens University of Charlotte and lives in Midcoast, Maine.