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.