Tony Nozero © 2010 All Rights Reserved
The woman, not the umbrella,
works the room as a metaphor.
Her nose balances the umbrella
and she eyes the absent man.
It’s not a red umbrella but
casts a red, transparent shadow.
What’s apparent: she’s not alone.
The room is company. She’s not
sure what the umbrella offers
under a reflective cover.
These thoughts are not specifically
hers. Neither are they about his
expressions or how he snuffed
the pleasure out of the plusses.
They’re not and yet it is. It’s not
nothing as the umbrella falls,
definitively slicing the moment
and it is when the room leaves her.
Bret Shepard is from the North Slope of Alaska, having lived in the villages of Barrow and Atqasuk. He is a graduate of the MFA program at Saint Mary’s College (CA). Currently, he works on a ranch in northern Idaho. His poetry has recently appeared in the Cold Mountain Review, Copper Nickel and Flutter Poetry Journal.
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