Illumination
On those cold, clear winter mornings, I rise in the dark and sit
beneath a lamp with a pen and paper in a circle of light
barely bright enough for the work. The window beside me is black
and blank, and soon I’m staring only through the window of the page
at whatever I’m drawing from ink and concentration. Hours pass,
and always, when I least expect it, there’s a sudden tide of light
as the sun crests the mountain. When the first rays flood the fields,
the thin, yellow curtain behind me brightens, and the room swells
with light. Everything is suddenly golden and illuminated,
and for just that one moment, I make the glorious and forgivable
mistake of thinking it has something to do with me.
“If I Were You . . .”
That’s how it always begins, then--
“I would change
my life, my tune, my shirt,
my shoes, my mind, my hat,
my glasses, my hair, my direction,
my ways,” . . . and so on.
No, you wouldn't.
But if you were me,
you would be me--
as wrong, as stupid,
as woefully misguided as I am.
The only difference between us
is that if you were me
you would already know this.
Bionote
Eric Paul Shaffer is author of eight books of poetry, including Green Leaves: Selected & New Poems; Even Further West; A Million-Dollar Bill; Lāhaina Noon; and Portable Planet. Free Speech, his next poetry volume, will be published in 2025. 650 of his poems have been published in reviews in the USA, Australia, Canada, England, Ireland, Japan, New Zealand, Nicaragua, Scotland, and Wales. Shaffer recently retired from teaching writing at Honolulu Community College.
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