My shadow turned to me and said:

“What would our life be like if

I grew up facing this way? Could I see a man

looking up or see a human looking down?” And then it dared to turn around.

It took me an inchworm’s crawl to hear its voice.

Under the fluorescent-brights.

Under the starless night.

Outside my home inside my neighborhood

singled out by the flashlights.

Wondering who would I be?

Which me would I prefer?

Which me would I see?

Whose ego would be dead?

Or would ‘I’ endure?

I didn’t stay behind to trace my own lines

or lick the cracks in the concrete before i bled

over my mother’s stucco safe house just ahead

of my own shadow.

I haven't had to, as brown as I am.

But now there are even more me-s than before.

Less money. More problems.

More death and more war.

Which crossroads would be different?

Which door must explore? Which dimension

would awaken my subconscious to new joys?

If i knew:

There are stars inside of me.

Same as the stars inside of you.

Is life as a shadow a world with more art?

No war and no money.

More life and more love.

If so, then with sensational thrill and a willingness to be,

I would embrace that whole space where

bright beautiful brown people are free.

I didn’t stay behind to trace my own lines

or lick the cracks in the concrete before I bled

over my mother’s stucco safe house just ahead

of my own shadow.

I haven't had to, as brown as I am.

I couldn't believe I forgot them too.

The death of a star makes me blue.

from the poetry of Glenn Epps