publishing poetry only

Monday's Poem


Yellow Shoes

My shadow plays accordion
with thin red gloves, chess
in the altogether, writes
poetry in sand, letters on birch bark;
she wears Brunswick green-
sings off key while climbing
steep hills with sacks of cherries
on her back; she eats sardines,
garlic sandwiches
and omelettes with a plum-
On moonless Tuesdays my shadow
fills a light blue pick-up with wild abalone shells
for mulching opaque gardens at midnight; cut feet
and bleeding knees are for me; my shadow
wears yellow shoes and doesn't fall.

© 2011 Carin Makuz

Carin Makuz writes mostly fiction, appearing in various magazines, including The New Quarterly, Room, THIS, and Geist. She is always hesitant to consider any of her poetry poetic yet forges on nonetheless. When she's not writing or wandering the shores of Lake Ontario muttering about darlings that won't take a hint, she can be found at