It was a rainy year in college.
I had a raincoat,
But the drops would always reach my glasses.
And three-quarters blind on rain-slick concrete stairs
is no way to weather a storm.

My first attempts were colorful, light,
portable, collapsible.
A fine companion in a drizzle,
although scarcely broad enough even for me.
But a hard New England wind, a gust of misery,
would throw the flimsy things inside out,
leaving deformed shelter and drenched disappointment.

Then I found the right fit:
double-layered, with a grip built for battle,
a stainless steel spine, and a hood black as despair.
I carried it forth into wrenching gales
and weeping downpours
and came out clear-eyed and unbowed,
even when my shoes were soaked.

At first I held it low and close,
a double-octagon of barely-covered spokes
warding off both water and fools.
But with time, I offered the shivering forms,
caught unprepared in life’s storms,
friends or strangers alike,
a place in that dome of dryness.

The grace and purpose of any umbrella,
is to be shared.