The Poetry Kit MAGAZINE

 

 

Poetry 

 

By Dorrie Johnson

 

 

 

An orange umbrella  (Displayed in Birmingham Library)

 

It was an orange umbrella;

not the orange of the fruit

but the sizzling orange at the heart

of a burning sunset.

 

You held it up high and proud.

 

It was an orange umbrella;

not the slow orange of ripening rosehips

but the quickening orange of a butterfly’s wing.

 

You learnt to twirl and spin it.

 

It was an orange umbrella;

not the orange of a marigold

but the glistening orange of a goldfish

in dark pond weeds.

 

It was an orange umbrella.

You were six.

You lost it.

You cried –

         not for the umbrella, but for the loss of orange.

 

 


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