The Red Umbrella
Beneath a hazy heat
I hear a seagull's cry rise and fall,
perhaps searching for a mate,
his swooping shadow a puppet
prancing upon windswept dune
where our footprints
once burned a path to the shore,
our cries of laughter
a courtship of sorts.
Our oasis a red umbrella.
Wind cooled our skin,
sun kissed our toes,
"Oh! What will I do
there
without my hands
upon your summer face?"
I follow the tide,
allow it to swallow
all evidence I've returned,
leave behind the sancutary
I tried to recreate.
Let it disappear,
become a speckle
amongst the rainbow
of covers, of lovers.
Wish the seagull
could pluck my heart,
make it dance,
come alive again.
by Margaret Bednar, October 15, 2025
This is linked with "dVerse Poets Prosery - Oh, Umbrellas" where we needed to use the phrase "What will I do there without my hands upon your summer face?"
