Shame
2009; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 32; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/cal.0.0359
ISSN1080-6512
Autores ResumoShame Rich Levy (bio) I drag my shame outside for a walk because it needs a little air, and we head for the quaint shopping district, where my shame and I can make a round of the plaza, ringed with open-air cafés, and maybe stop for a drink. At first I wonder why people are looking at us, but then I look down, and get it—my shame, after all, exudes a certain odor, sweats profusely, and it’s difficult to tell exactly what it looks like, or how tall it is, or even what sex it is. Suddenly I feel it twitching as if it’s about to make a run for it— which makes me grab its hand, or what passes for a hand. So now my shame and I are walking hand-in-whatever by the shop windows, and we can see our reflection, and I watch us pretending not to look. O how shameful my shame is! But this time together has brought us closer, and now my arm’s around its shoulder and I’m no longer in a hurry [End Page 135] and the air feels so fresh and sunlight so soft that I turn to my shame and say, “Hey.” And my shame gives me through what I think are its eyes such a look of pity that I jam my hands in my pockets, we skip the café, and I try to lose it in the crowd. By the time I reach my front door, I am breathing hard, and I don’t see my shame anymore. I have dinner with the children, my wife gives me kiss, I lock the doors and shut the lights. But in the bathroom that night, as I brush my teeth and look into the mirror, there it is, staring at me, stubborn, hairy, stout— and I’m still not sure why I find it so attractive. [End Page 136] Rich Levy Rich Levy is a poet and, since 1995, executive director of Inprint, a nonprofit literary arts organization based in Houston, Texas. His poems have appeared in Pool, Boulevard, Gulf Coast, High Plains Literary Review, The Texas Observer, and elsewhere. Copyright © 2009 Charles H. Rowell
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