rain falls over like the sky is weeping with me. i cringe at the sight of happy people and avoid confrontation like an umbrella avoids rain. i feel scattered like drops on today’s glass-preserved grey painting. and if i had to leave this sacred confined place, id pace in spite of the tear-spitting clouds, chilling winds, hurried ,umbrella as my armor to the very next distraction.
1 Like
Bent handle of purple umbrella. Spokes turned and rusted from years of catching rainfall offering shielding like armor for those underneath. Used, secondhand from a stately older woman given as a token to her granddaughter so she does not melt away in the constant drip drizzle Downpour of the winter fall that is plagued with clouds dark and dismal. Purple umbrella new and old.
1 Like
rain collects into small puddles in craters in the tarmac. heat absorbed and sun showers sizzle on the black asphalt. metal spikes extend an umbrella to cast a shadow over me clicking, rainbow trails of motor oil swirl in flooding water. my shoes swim, heavy with each step to pick up and place back down like treading snow covered hills as a kid. dragging a blue trashcan lid behind me. criss cross, my uneven weight shifts to the left and i flip, rolling down like a pin knocked down, wind knocked out by a bowling ball spinning on sleek oiled wood, air is cold and presses on my arm, waiting for the return. the hairs stand on my neck and small tremors. dimly lit bowling alley with drinks under an amber lit canopy poured foaming beer on tap into red solo cups. rumbling under my feet other lane
My car is loud with junk I don’t need. I contort my arm behind the seat, fumbling for an umbrella. I’m sweating just looking for this silly thing, and the velcro on my jacket is caught in my hair, and my hair is caught in my mouth, and there really is no need for an umbrella to walk into a store… and finally, the nylon rubs between my fingers and I lug the parasol over the center console. A gust of relief exhausts itself from both my lungs and car. I tear apart the velcro keeping the wings down, hold my breath, and throw the door open, quickly pressing the button to launch my umbrella up to the sky. Like a rocket it shoots up, and the wind is so strong I’m nearly blown away. There was no real use for that charade anyways. As the rain comes in parallel to the ground, I tuck away the umbrellas protective wings, spread my own towards the sky, and smile with strings of hair between my lips.
1 Like
You got nerve damage where she’d beat you with her antique umbrella. Worse than me. My welts turned inwards eventually, lost color though perhaps not saturation. But sensation was gone from the small of your back for years, did it ever heal? We called her death with his scythe, she called herself christ bearing that steel-frame spider wherever we went, regardless of natures temperament, grasping the hickory handle with its oft-polished gleam, the waxed canvas skin and its dry rustling. Do you remember how the smell of beeswax and wood lacquer would mix with her night cream? Mornings when we went to market, if you spoke too loud she’d grasp the thing upside down like a drunk yankee’s player and swing at your shoes so that hickory hook would uproot you. Do you remember how the red dust would kick up when we fell? Sometimes you’d get back up for more but I never did.
1 Like
Abandoned by our ally in the sky, the enemy naturally takes advantage of the situation. An ominous doom is felt by everyone around. Frightening graphite clouds fill the sky and suck all the colour from the surroundings. Hot, angry air encircles us, teasing the hairs on our arms and legs, shouting in our ears and scaring us with the odd pocket of icy chill. Cannonballs of water pelt us from above like savages. We are under attack. But our trusty shield ‘flips’ and ‘flaps’ aggressively in retaliation. Rainbow coloured, in contrast to the enemy, it launches the cannonballs back in the direction they came. Our saviour. Good old umbrella.
1 Like