Raindrops tap-tap-tapping on the windowpane this morn.
I glance outside at April skies gray and forlorn.
School day ahead, little feet will soon patter down the hall,
I search the closet corners, behind winter coats standing tall.
Where have all the umbrellas gone? A seasonal mystery.
One under the car seat, one borrowed by a friend—now history.
The colorful parade of last year’s shields, missing or broken,
Left behind at soccer games, school buses, unspoken.
The children wake, eyes bright despite the gloom outside.
“Will we need umbrellas?” they ask with sleepy-eyed pride.
I smile and nod, knowing my morning mission awaits,
To find these shelters from spring’s unpredictable gates.
In the basement corner, I discover a forgotten treasure,
My youngest’s umbrella, unicorns dancing across its measure.
A monster-eyed green parasol appears beneath a chair,
Watching me silently with its googly gaze, what a pair!
But one child remains without shield from heaven’s tears,
I grab my own large black umbrella, accumulated through years.
“Here,” I say, “take mine today, I’ll pull my hoodie up instead.”
The smile of gratitude warms me more than words that could be said.
As they march out the door, three bobbing canopies against the gray,
I witness childhood preserved dry beneath fabric on this wet spring day.
Yet umbrellas in their hands transform beyond mere shelter from rain,
Becoming magic wands and canes with powers hard to explain.
By afternoon the clouds have fled, umbrellas fold away,
Only to reappear as pillared roofs for forts where they play.
Little hands grip handles tight, jump from couches with a whoop!
Makeshift parachutes floating them down in a gleeful swoop.
I find myself lingering in store aisles with colorful displays,
New umbrellas catching my eye in delightful ways.
Such joy in choosing replacements for the broken and the lost,
A small investment in childhood wonder, worth any cost.
For in these simple tools, metal ribs and patterned cloth unfurled,
My children find both shelter and doorways to an imagined world.
The spring will bring its showers, predictable yet wild,
But I’ll keep seeking umbrellas for each beloved child.
© 2025 Matthew Chicoine
More Poems (if you you liked this one)
Unexpected Joys on a Summer Morn
Some Autumnal Afterthoughts: A Poem
