The Umbrella

the wind pops like a ball hitting a wall boy of 3 years struggles to control his small, opened umbrella a turtle shell shape with turtle head and tail its black/green lines, a turtle grid of folly boy laughing beneath a dome of turtle armour tosseled by the wind he holds the handle tightly even though no rain falls his mother encourages its closure to anchor meanderings that blow a lad astray what makes a boy's balance manageable to hold? achievable wants? unwilted expectations? a mother's ponder, will his shell grow with him? what of the circle shaped by her embrace? sometimes we don't know which way is up sometimes we choose an arid shelter sometimes coverings collapse like many selves folded into one under clouds of one's own making Poem composed May 1, 2023