I hide in my shadow to understand me walking a step forward or behind to find the person I must be. In place of one, I find a menagerie. Playing people like a kitten, tangling yarn, scratching with clawed words like a cat. Stalking, a panther in the dark velvet nights observing people, picking their brains always curious, using my senses. Then with sunrise, I am mild as a lamb slaughtered by people who don't know who I am. Passing by a mirror, a collage of faces stares back at me. That is where the art walks in. Who is this creature that talks and walks in my skin? Who chatters like a monkey, and invites no one in? Then as silent a snake waiting to strike. Alone but never lost, I am King in my den for I am the mighty poet who grabs words from the air, performing my magic for anyone who cares. By Kathie Stehr |
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| In Shadows |
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