Shadow

I believe evil exists

because the postcards kept coming

for months, each carefully lettered

in a steady motion, punched up

with colored gel pen, pictures of

kittens or bears, landscapes, portraits

of dead people, each unique, each

so arrowed, she’d say,

I’m doing fine, how are you?

but I knew that wasn’t the question

or she’d say, I went to Washington DC

today, have you done anything

lately? but again, not the question;

For months, for years, from college

to college, apartment to dorm to

apartment, landscapes, dead people,

kittens, colored gel pen and

questions, she’d seen the redwoods

she’d met her uncle

what have I made of myself

without her? She’d made me

bury that blade between her

shoulder bones, evil exists, she

wanted to haunt me to

the grave like my shadow.