Red umbrella

Bright spot of shade
sanguine against the blue –
What does it hide?

My mother licks her dripping cone
blissfully oblivious.
Soon she’ll be whisked
from her beloved shores
carried away
as under a red balloon
kicking wildly, angry as Mars.

Meanwhile I veil myself
in vacant smiles
hold my breath, submersed
in blue, cold as Sedna
beneath an upended
red canoe.

© 2005 Leslee. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

By Leslee

Leslee is a poet, a writer, and an amateur photographer. She writes stunning tweets at 3rdhouse, and she blogs at 3rd House Journal.