My Shadow

My shadow
isn't made of matter.
It can't occupy a bowl
Like cake batter.

It's not alive.
And yet it grows and shrinks.
And lays beside me
When I get forty winks.

Sometimes, it's a dove gray
And then swiftly turns black.
When I exercise,
I can see it doing jumping jacks.

I've seen my shadow dance, too,
And don a hat.
It's also tripped
And fallen flat.

My shadow can even
wave "hello" or "goodbye"--
Or mouth the words
To a lullaby.

My shadow's not matter
In a classic sense.
But I like mine
Without pretense.

This poem is part of my April Poetry Challenge. In honor of National Poetry Month this year, I'm writing lots of poetry and posting a new poem every day in April! Read more of my poetry here.


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