top of page

Compassion

Art and writing by Sophie Gregorace


A Shadow

In the corner of my eye.

There she is once again.

Roaming the halls,

Trailing the walls,

Always lurking.

She peers through doorways,

Sits on the staircase,

Stands on the kitchen counter,

Leans over my shoulder.

I avert my gaze

and ignore her tantrums.

I have seen her form before.

If I were to lay my eyes on her again,

She would pounce —


Smothering, tormenting, hopeless.

I hear her footsteps in the attic,

Relentless and loud,

Frantically looking for attention,

For a place to settle in.

But I do not let her.

I try not to let her.

If I am not careful,

A whisper turns into a screech,

A footstep, a cacophony,

A faint entity, a smothering wretch.

She laments and wails,

A child, inconsolable,

Dragging me into her anguish,

Into the person I used to be.

But I do not let her.

I try not to let her.

And yet, she stays.

Roaming the halls,

Trailing the walls,

Always lurking.





An essence

Outside my kitchen window.

There she is once again,

Phantasmal and resplendent.

I catch glimpses of her

In the garden,

Tending to the sage and edelweiss.

In her faint presence, I can make out

A few wrinkles,

Crows feet, and their source —

Always a calm smile.

She is content.

I hear her humming as she

Knocks on my door,

A light tap tap tap,

Wanting more water for the flowers.

When the Shadow does not look,

I let her in.

She tells me of her garden,

Of the aloe I have never seen up close,

And the frequenting aphids that

disturb her blooms, nibbling on the

Chrysanthemum leaves.

Despite the pests,

her garden remains ever radiant,

Captivating and brilliant.

She tells me she does not hurt them,

trap them, or flick them off the stems.

She takes care of them.

And with this,

A metamorphosis ensues.

With wings

dazzling in the afternoon sun,

Iridescent butterflies pollinate her flowers.




A thump.


There she is once again.

It is time for my visitor

to take her leave.

Melancholy washes over me

As she smiles with

Eyes like mine

And opens the door

back to her garden.

Louder footsteps.


Now, among her sprouts,

I watch the spirit lean down

and take a small insect

In her hand.

She closes her other hand

On top

And kisses her knuckles.


Running down the hall.


Already trying to escape,

A butterfly emerges from her hands

And lands on a

Forget-me-not.

She has been doing this for a while now.


Pounding feet

Coming down the stairs


I am still watching my visitor

As the Shadow makes her way

Into the kitchen with me.

Tears in her eyes,

Ready to scream and flail,

I take a breath.

I face her,

outstretch my arms,

and smile.

Comments


bottom of page