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Shadow Dancing I woke up from a dream and realized I'd been dancing
with the Devil. That grace-less fellow left dusty cloven hoof-prints
all over my shiny black dancing shoes! Not to mention my
blistered palm or the smoking handprint burned into my dress
at the small of my back. Or my toes crushed by the shadow-weight
of the world. The hung-over guilt of my own original sin.
You see, I invited him in. My mama early on put the fear of the Devil in me.
I wrestled with him as a child, and won
but only after he'd dragged me across the ceiling
threw me against the walls. It must've been a dream
but that memory carried such weight that the thought
of the thought of him sent me scurrying to hide
in the white robes of Christ. But my dad put the fear of fear in me
and I've been running from it ever since
playing with spiders, swimming with sharks.
I cast off the refuge of Christ's mantle like a snake
too big for its skin. So when the Bright One
in the dark came a callin', I must confess
I let him in. I woke up from the dream of my waking
and realized I'd been dancing with my shadow
all along, and it's still stuck to me
sometimes in front, sometimes behind.
Sometimes I see me in profile to the side
lock-step as I go, and I wonder
what I show.
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