Hot Tin Roof: The Shadow

By Luis Bravo

“Oh, how much time spends the shadow
being nothing”

—Andrés Echevarría 


the shadow comes from the collapsed form of “sch (e) adew (e)”

the shadow loses the “dow” and almost be comes a “she”

the shadow of the chimpanzee parades on the catwalk of the progeny


the shadow busies itself with being unnoticed

the shadow-she sits invisibly by you


the shadow moved everything but the petrous midday

the shadow, clean stain

the shadow will be gone after you are gone


the shadow of forests brightening

the shadow of air in clouded skies


the shadow of enveloping wings

the shadow is yours but not to keep


the shadow’s line, a trace, a bruise

the shadow as abstract geometry


the shadow is a truthful hideaway

the shadow, cover up of facts


the shadow of the statue moves all day

the shadow of your hero lingers in the shadows?


the shadow little by little grows

the shadow Round Midnight goes blind on the sundial


the shadow of Laika, the avant-garde astrodog,

rocks´round the clock

as Halley’s Comet sings the first rock and roll orbiting Earth


the shadow is metaphysical, you know, who knows how far away it may go

the shadow of time, for example, I saw her swimming among infinite light beams


the shadow, virtue’s coal

the shadow, darkness to unveil

the shadow, mystery bowl

the shadow shuts its trap

the shadow, loyal bitch


the shadow like a killer on your heels

the shadow in silk and wearing gloves

the shadow of prayer holds the world together

the shadow clings to nonbelievers

the shadow fights on the battlefield of faith


the shadow of a candle divides the world in two

the shadow an unwanted party guest


the shadow throws

the shadow of a condor against the white- quartz walls

the shadow delves into the secret bottom of truth


ah, the shadow of grapes

under sweet shaded kisses…


the shadow of God in the wretched face of saints

the shadow protects the foremen of Devil


the shadow intangible

the shadow of Virgil saying he is no longer a man


the shadow no-thing no-being

the shadow as used as any other thing


the shadow unrepentant user of your steps

the shadow distractedly lost its body


the shadow dreams of independence

—Chinese shadow-art lends reason—


the shadow is a serious thing until you tickle the artist

the shadow snitches on vampires who do not reflect in mirrors


the shadow of the poet and his lover: one long, lone shadow alone

the shadow nevermore of the raven standing on a bust of Pallas


the shadow of the Charrúa or the Ioway

people locked up in the continent of Runiyoucan

the shadows of the Official History where natives have no place

the shadows of Tacuabé’s  bow and Guyunusa’s feathers in a Parisian antique shop


the shadow is clearly an inverted lighthouse standing tall

the shadow of Julio Inverso´s poetry like a diamond in the dark


the fine needle shadow of the Gothic cathedrals

the shadow written in blood in the last of Batman’s tragedies


the shadow has no fold or wrinkles but still it´s Baroque

the shadow, pyramid of Earth where Sor Juana kindled First Dream

the shadow of a black cat chasing after all the inquisitors


the shadow sings in babbling drunk

the shadow of desire and its theater of dreams,… Sir William


the damp shadow of mine dearest dead in the whiteness of bone

the shadow, corona around the face of the moon


the shadow-eye

the shadow chasing the grim shadow

foot print of thought


“Beware of the shadow” reads the warning sign

the shadow of the war always shows the big powers tail


the shadow under the brim of the hat of Carlitos Gardel

shadows, nothing more, between your…” shadow and mine


Shade, truth disguised mirror, Oh, Plato!

Oh, The Matrix!

the shadow, impeccable cliché for

Crime Fiction


the shadow, as innocence, is unborn

the shameless shadow of the ego


the shadow is not just a game of words

the dictum shadow plays among the shadows of the meaning


the shadow of the wind

the shadow of a timbó tree with a thousand ears keeps secrets untold

the mountain’s shadow inspiring the Yin- Yang  in Chinese poets

the tiny shadow, spilled ink of its own voice.

Luis Bravo is an Uruguayan poet, essay writer and literature professor. After “Swift Tree” (1998) his work has focused on Latin American critical studies in the USA. His poems have been translated and published in magazines and anthologies, in English, French, Swedish, German, Portuguese and Stonian. He attended the International Writing Program at The Iowa University in 2012.

Translated into English by Fanny del Río.

Edited by William Blair.

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