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
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