I twirl my umbrella.
Not over me, since I'm far from excited,
or happy.

I stepped out into the rain after work.

Opening it
I realized,

it had a hole,

and is now worthless,
but I would hate to let it go.

My grandmother passed it down to my mother and my mother gave it to me.

Before she passed.

A sad old lady,
stubborn and empty.

This umbrella reminds me of that.
A part of her I hated,
but can’t let go of.

She was still my mother.

And so I twirl it,
closed and hidden,
to my right.

The same side she laid on.
When Grim came near.
There, she stared at me
with her glossy blue eyes
and said her last furrow-browed “Hello”.