Umbrella
You say “um-ber-ella,”
Separating the syllables into distinct, slow parts.
Your Texas ancestors tumble,
Into the word.
A leather Stetson appears a top your head,
Your mouth droops as you drawl.
Or sometimes you answer me,
“I don’t guess.”
And in that moment,
Your Aunt Eunice, Spicy Cross and the whole
Town of Hillsboro,
Enter the room and have
a little sit down.
Today is silver.
The rain comes down in feathery,
Drops so small I can hardly feel their weight.
We fought last night and I,
Want to go to the grocery store alone.
The porch door groans as you push,
Opening to the wide yard,
Littered with our children’s toys.
The grass green-grey,
Crushed by pelting tears that seem clear,
But are never what they seem.
The grass green-grey,
Crushed by pelting tears that seem clear,
But are never what they seem.
I think we need one,
But you say,
“I don’t guess we need an umbrella today.”
©2013 Juliet Bond all rights reserved
©2013 Juliet Bond all rights reserved
