Not the shadow we are systems inside
these faces of ourselves which are one face
the time I followed on the beach road bike
the traffic growled six inches from my flank
and me last in line on my pink huffy
quivering small to keep that narrow road
and that time I screamed at a spider prank
because this wouldn’t stop until I screamed —
until the screams wore out. I hid under
bangs and eyeliner, finely drawn silence
that little girl earned prizes mirroring
expressions, got to give the crowd their show
on all the expected channels was it
so hard to mirror her back, that wild smile?
White Cat Grove 