EVERYONE HAS UMBRELLAS

—after Morgan Reed’s Paradigm Shifts

​

The first day I purchased 

my own umbrella, petite & 

clear, I tore a hole right through

its front panel, my heart

pressing open wound until I 

noticed. I cursed myself, began 

tucking my toes beneath 

navy covers, wrung my 

shiny mirrorball-hands

over our toilet…just standing 

by, wishing as smaller things 

got bigger, canary dripping 

into another’s hatched

​

streaks. Where was the muted 

lime before here? Where’s

the trail’s opening, a beginning 

that ends pairs, a start which

runs our news ads by sticking

red thumbtacks between 

each paragraph?

​

Zero branches bare; 

another flying white-

thing; the world—

refusing to change after

so much variation—

offers endless ironed 

clouds, & I’m trying

to remember pastels,

manners for sharing,

what year collars went

out of fashion, but

​

I’m coming off 

of sidewalks. I am 

being pelted by this 

matted landscape, 

&, for once, I do not 

like it. I’ve kept

my distance. I’ve

never smiled, yet

I am upright, & 

everything could

be different except,

perhaps, me.