flat statues

i stole my piece of charcoal 
when the other kids were putting their's back in the bin
our art teacher had given us those fragments 
& told us to draw each other
ten-year-old fingers grasping 
shards of glorious shadow 
rolled out large squares of thick paper 
sprawled out on art room tables
i drew a portrait of her 
my friend who had strawberry shoulder-length hair
i remember asking her to look at me 
in between sketching lines
our eyes meeting 
taking in the shapes of the other's faces 
she had greenish irises 
& i remember thinking that the charcoal
wouldn't be able to show them
oval face shape
charcoal on my hands
when we finished i wouldn't show her
& she wouldn't show me
i wondered what we had done
to each other
what kind of image the charcoal 
had pulled from our bodies
i stole my piece of charcoal 
when the other kids were putting their's back in the bin
i still have it now 
rub it between my fingers 
till their coated in coal dust
then i trace the outline
of my shadow
smudged in all different angles 
of those world
i leave them like flat statues
tall from the dropping sun
short in the morning
on a brick wall at the train station
i'm trying to see what 
she drew in me
all those years ago
that careful glancing back & forth
between paper & body
i don't think anyone has
unfolded that kind of image from me since
it was the charcoal
maybe it was the charcoal 
i crouch down on the sidewalk outside my house
my shadow short & compact
i ask can i draw you
the shadow nods