Back Issue, Fall 2005

Ellen Hersh

SHADING

Shading

was something I learned later,

turning the crayon over on its side,

passing it gently over the paper

in between the lines.

 

Later must be when we all learn to shade.

 

A woman sits on a grassy hill,

her shorts a modest pink,

hair a gentle brown,

watching the shorts of her daughter on the swing set

flash shocking, almost fuchsia,

each time the toes point skyward.

Back and forth

the child's blinding white shirt blows,

bright shorts streak over and over

as she swoops skyward,

layers of sun bleached gold hair

fly forward, fall back.

 

And I,

in shell pink, near white shorts,

pale hair flying higher and higher,

face, arms, legs, whiter and whiter,

I float up past you two,

the hillside, the swing set,

too pale, too translucent for you to see me

as I disappear among the clouds.

 

-Ellen Hersh

Ellen lives in Bradford, New Hampshire most of the time, but has been known to take off for the south when the snow gets deep.