It’s not shame itself we want to lose
but the shame about our shame.
Shame itself is as innocent
as bliss or love or joy, only
we seldom want it to linger.
A woman walks through rows of corn
and knows her own shadow.
She does not lament its shape,
but uses it to guide her.
There is teacher in everything,
even the corn dried on the stalk. Even
the wanting to push shame away.
Even the arm that rises up
to embrace our own shadow,
impossible as it is.