Silhouettes

The outline of what’s supposed to be is there, but the substance and details are missing. Backlit you loom overhead as the lights first turn on. It takes a moment, but eventually, the features of your face come into focus, playing with me, toying with anger and love. Your blue eyes aren’t blue skies or ice or oceans to drown in. They’re just blue. Actually, they’re just eyes. Color doesn’t matter. Such is the prejudice we are taught early on to combat racism. Your silhouette is black, but that is inconsequential. What matters is its shape and what that is telling me. Backlit you wait in the doorway frozen somewhere between coming to me or inviting me to you. You spread your arms from door jamb to door jamb, begging me to hold you or barring the way. Your shadow is like the cross as if you are Jesus come back to walk on water, feed the thousands, and in one last miracle, make us fall in love again. But you are not dead, and there is no redemption. This is one heaven we cannot escape.