There are two umbrellas in my parents' coat closet
that have been there for 30 years.
And I have never seen them used.
They are tall, with red and white stripes,
and brittle, plastic handles.
They give me a false
sense of stability.
For there has not been a single moment
through the course of my life when I have opened
that closet and those
umbrellas haven't been there.
My parents are now leaving forever.
And that closet will soon be empty.
And I suppose those umbrellas,
through no will of their own,
will finally see rain.