Recorded for Poem-a-Day, December 6, 2018.
About this Poem 

“When I wrote this poem, I was thinking about how well my husband knows me and how strange and wonderful that knowing is. I mean, he’d be the only one to realize that I don’t just miss the sun, I miss seeing my own shadow. Oh gosh, this is such a love poem.”
—Paige Lewis

When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun, He Knows

what I really mean. He paints my name
 
across the floral bed sheet and ties the bottom corners
to my ankles. Then he paints another
 
for himself. We walk into town and play the shadow game,
saying Oh! I'm sorry for stepping on your
 
shadow! and Please be careful! My shadow is caught in the wheels
of your shopping cart. It's all very polite.
 
Our shadows get dirty just like anyone's, so we take
them to the Laundromat—the one with
 
the 1996 Olympics themed pinball machine—
and watch our shadows warm
 
against each other. We bring the shadow game home
and (this is my favorite part) when we
 
stretch our shadows across the bed, we get so tangled
my husband grips his own wrist,
 
certain it's my wrist, and kisses it.

Copyright © 2018 by Paige Lewis. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 6, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2018 by Paige Lewis. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 6, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Paige Lewis

Paige Lewis

Paige Lewis is the author of Space Struck, forthcoming from Sarabande Books in 2019.