Shadow Puppet
by gm
Carmine Starnino
Thumb and fingers
add up to a dog
and pony show.
Whatever I throw
at the bedroom wall,
whatever comes
to hand, printed
with the ink of the hour
above the neck
of the wrist. The point
is to make a face
from a fist,
a four-limbed beast,
or a night-light
archaeopteryx take flight.
The point is to make
something
from the laying on
of nothing, then wait
for the shriek
of my little girl’s laughter
at the shapes I cast
at the other me,
the mirror side man
signaling back,
his cropped outline
bereaved of his body.
I square
my palm against
the space around it,
place the darkest
version of myself
centre-stage.
Very nice.