An umbrella spins
Like a kaleidoscope –
A child plays tag with it
And passes it into the breeze.
She stands unprotected:
Raindrops tease her skin –
Her smile defies the weather.
She scoots across the lawn
With arms raised against etiquette –
Laughs at her umbrella
As it dances across
She pretends she’s a dandelion –
Her seeds bounce
Like raindrops on the umbrella.
Her sister joins in –
The umbrella lands upside down.
Her sister decides to hide
Behind the azalea bush.
They forget about
Their wet clothes,
And the umbrella.
Their mother watches
From the kitchen window
And is not amused.
She taps on the glass
For the girls to come inside –
Her persistence synchronizes
With the thunder.
Then the game ends
As raindrops beat down
On her daughters’ heads.
The kitchen door slams
And lightning breaks
Into a hundred forks.
(Previously published in Tamarind March 2008)
She cut off her hair:
thick chunks were tossed
into the basket next to the sink.
She should have done it sooner,
but lacked the guts to see
what lived behind the auburn curtain.
A mood mixed in chemical damage
precipitated her scissors
to alter her reflection in the mirror.
Her reaction was on stand-by.
Then her words came forth
in sentences shortened to stubble.
She pulled the plastic bag
from the confines of her basket.
It was V-day for the basket and her –
liberation defied enclosure.
She put the scissors in her pocket,
tied the bag in a Gordian knot
and carried it outside.
She didn’t dump the bag in the garbage –
instead, she brought it to the sycamore,
tore it open and scattered her hair
around the tree.
She took out her scissors –
carved her thoughts on the bark.
Leaves started to fall one by one,
and then, the rest fell like a rainstorm.
She looked up and dropped her scissors –
never thought that hair could grow on trees.
A woman in a hurry,
Falls out of step between her schedule
And a distraction on the subway stairs.
A scruffy hipster passes her on the left –
His artistic flair startles her.
Her eyes turn towards him,
But the wind interferes.
Her long red hair becomes a veil –
Her face is on view for obscurity.
His eyes never drift from the right –
Creative patterns of hair
Cannot turn his eyes away
From the nondescript
Geometry of the wall.
Before she could sketch
He is gone.
All possibilities drawn
For a match or mistake
Were quietly erased by the wind.
Patricia Carragon is an ad executive who
moonlights as a poet at night. Her poetry can be found on
Poetz.com, Rogue Scholar’s, La Luciole Magazine, Clockwise Cat,
Mobius, Clwn Wr #41, Live Magazine, Tamarind, Riverfront and
more. Rogue Scholars Press produced her first book, “Journey to
the Center of My Mind,” which was showcased at Poet's House in
2007. She is in an anthology, "The Ice Road Poems," which was
edited by Phil Linz and published by Fierce Grace Press in 2007.