Page 59 - Contrast2009

'ptlrSlling '.feoRid-

a'lfemov's 'redllmbrefla'

,n1elissa atkinson

They're ambling away ;
from me, heads buried
in the embrace ~,
of thei~' red umbrella, her r~in-
boots splashing,into puddles '&
of light; hls'arm, snug
around,het waist, .qui.d.i.nq , I'
her deeper into the jolting
oranges and yellows
of drizzling lamppost
beams. ,They don't see

the black,
soggy night-its shadowed
trees pushed
to"the outskirts'
of their bubble, darkness
pressed into corners.

It's as if, nestled
under

their umbrella, they notice nothing
but the brightest
colors, radiant spl6tches
painted across their midnight,
stroll. If only I could 'follo~,

I would grab "my own
,umbrella,' find' '

myself in a world where rain

,.and leaves and light swirl

" into' one jagged

waterfall. each liquid fleck,

a shaving from the edge,

of a rainbow. I'd pursue

them through,th~ creeping

gloom-the promise '

o~ sunrise stitched
into the fabric of our red
umbrellas.

• .,Ii

,,-'_."