My sister bought it years ago,
too bad, my mother didn’t
get the chance to enjoy it,
she would've treasured it.
It became a reminder of sadness,
an unintended metaphor, for loss
and pain...it always brought back
that very unexpected, very sad
early morning in February.
Its bright red handle...faded
through weeks, months and
years of changing seasons,
stood on a corner for a long
time...unused, but still intact,
until i took notice one day,
brought it out of its dusty wrap
and opened the red cane umbrella.
A smiling face suddenly flashed
in mind...a presence who, on
early mornings, eagerly recited,
“I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul,”
tirelessly sketched portraits of
unknown faces during unholy hours,
planted, cooked, sewed, while
humming "Ramona"...one who
taught us about silent vows and
undying promises that eventually,
became ours to keep.
It's now an accompanying cane,
the red umbrella...it saves me
from miscalculating steps, from
falling debris, when keeping walls
from crumbling.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 29, 2022
