A girl bought an umbrella yesterday — to protect herself from the rain.
It was a nice thing to have it. This way she could see the rain falling all around the umbrella, but not have to get wet.
She was protected.
She could walk up and down the sidewalk and people wouldn't bump into her because the size of her umbrella gave her a bubble of air all to herself.
People would compliment it sometimes — they would say that they liked the pattern or they just liked the way it looked against the grey sky.
She seemed sophisticated — her umbrella made her stand out from the general scene...but in a good way.
The girl across the street appeared in the opposite light.
She blended in with the grey sky to a fault — to the point of almost disappearing.
Her hair and clothes were drenched in rain. She had no umbrella.
She was not protected.
People bumped into her as she walked because no one noticed she was there. But it wasn't her fault.

Scissors of light cut through the paper walls of our house.
They zigzag across the floor and force folded shadows to emerge.
Cutouts of snowflakes rain down from the sky and come to melt in puddles of words at our feet.
The air crinkles with the briskness of a crumpled up piece of newspaper being tossed into the fireplace.
I watch the world through my ink stained window,
And wonder at the printed lines that have built up our home.