Anna Pomeroy ’23
They say it’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.
I never seemed to understand that––
Why not be granted the extra protection before you even step outdoors?
It’s rather a challenge, standing down the hall of my mudroom
As I glare down the open door drowned with rainpour.
It’s a mental and physical game one plays––
Opening the umbrella as quickly as possible, and you lose if you get any
Raindrops on you.
We fear the uncertainty of that game, focused solely on the protection.
The barrier between us and the outside world, our reality.
It’s because we were conditioned that way.
Growing up, your parents shielded you from the darkness of this world.
Whether it’s “don’t look over at that accident” or private conversations
In the hallway of a doctor’s office.
We become blinded by the glare of our bubble.
Yet, truth be told, once you have grown out of those old wives’ tales,
The umbrella will be opened indoors in an act of careless habit.
Our chins will face up as we march out of the door,
Unknowingly still comforted by our shield.
And when that bubble eventually pops,
And we lose the glimmer our childish eyes once held,
We will run back into that hallway, shaking the drops off our coat.
The bad luck has kept its promise.