how to eat a shadow with everyone watching 

my shadow becomes so ripe
that fruit flies gather
singing their radio static into the house.
i want to kill them like i usually do
but there's something human about them today.

i scoop out the seeds from my shadow
like a pumpkin
great handfuls of flat black seeds
knotted with flesh
fingers scraping skin & the flies 
inching closer
each trying to play a different song 
from their mouths 
as if there were 
a pile of speakers  
turned small & buzzing.

everyone has been telling me i should eat 
my shadow but i was scared.
i watched it swell everyday 
heavy with syrup & nectar.
it grew more detailed too 
sometimes my shadow had eyes
& other days it had finger nails.

the branches of dead trees tell us 
if you let your shadow go too long
it will live your life for you--
wrapping its fingers around your wrists
& pulling you onto the ground.

i set the shadow on the cutting board
& i use the largest knife i have 
even though i could easily just use
a paring knife.
i want to feel in charge.

the flies sit in rows watching
hoping to catch flecks of sugary water
as i slice.

the shadow stares up at me
& i try not to look. 
i tell the shadow i am sorry 
& that i wish things were different
& that i could let it grow into a full human
with hair & teeth & eyes.

i eat chunks as i work
& the shadow tastes like a peach with
the texture of a watermelon.
grey-ish juice down me arms 
the flies ask if they can kiss me 
& i say no but they're persistent
with their long blue tongues.

the shadow is deeper than
it looks on the outside.
in the final bites
as i eat it's face 
it starts to cry & i tell it 
i loved its company 
& i imagine all the days 
walking home from the train 
with my likeness stretched tall 
on the sidewalk outside.

the flies lick the counter top
& go back to singing their different songs.
i plant a seed from the shadow
in the floor boards so another on 
can grow while i sleep under the
sweet glow of the street lamps.