As I walk up the street with my $5 Chinatown umbrella
I dislike how the wind and water grab my ankles
How their cold fingertips scratch the front of my knees and thighs
It is uncomfortable.
I’m reminded that when I was smaller
I invited them to tickle and drench me
Taking mom’s colorful umbrella – the one
with navy blue, orange and dark yellow spots.
I liked how the colors landed like rain
if rain were paint.
I would pop it open to the sky and rest beneath it.
Close my eyes and listen to the rain patter
Blue Yellow Orange
Yellow Blue Orange
Orange Yellow Blue
Open my eyes and begin my journey
Barefoot feet in joyous search of every puddle.
Jump and splash and wade through the deepest ones –
ankles and toes forging wild rivers.
I recall it was sometimes cold,
Wind or rain never battered me then.
I observe a little girl with a big umbrella
Soaring over her small person
Her smile is evidence:
Walking in the rain is glorious!
My umbrella, my body, my self
Mom’s umbrella sheltered my complete body –
I could choose to engage the rain
when I was smaller.
Now that I’m taller, my half body is exposed –
I engage the rain
no longer by choice.