A LESSON ON UMBRELLAS
We open memories/like umbrellas, keeping them/until we can’t, when the shielded parts/of us step out and speak. ---From “Mail Pouch” by Hannah Stephenson, The Storialist, 08-03-11
We grew up with grandmother
knowing our umbrella songs,
or we won’t be able to use them
when it rained, thus got drenched,
or when the sun seared our follicles,
got burnt and smelled like dried fish.
Torrents would get us a paragua
and save the creases on our pants.
Hints of inferno? Get the parasol!
Strut about shaded from a sun
that blazes tree tops, boil brains,
but that’s good only for a little girl.
Paragua, parasol, rain or shine,
will not make it any different---
memories of a sainted warden
shield us well from almost anything
from aching hearts to broken dreams,
and have grown old to fold umbrellas.
---Albert B. Casuga