Shadow Poet

              

I wrap around your fingers, like modeling clay, as you squeeze it.

You squeeze, roll me between your palms, then flatten me again.

Taking the shapes your hands create, moving to the force of you.

What if Gumby had copped an attitude, jumped on Pokey, and run?

What if Gumby found himself and said, no more steamroller, I am a man?

No more molding me, no more flexy clay for your whims, desires.

What if I jumped into my jeep and rode off, and took my playdough heart?

What if I find myself and say no more re-creating me? I am a woman.

I have a life force of my own, my own yearnings, burnings, inner fires.

What if you flex and bend, what if you change and evolve, what if…

I become your equal, your friend, your lover, and I join you at the core.

What if we put away the heart-shaped cookie cutters and just be?