Poem by Michele Karas






A red umbrella opening under a canopy 

                        of cherry blossoms, 

cutouts of pink petals 

overlaid onto the silvery surface 

            of an April sky. 


Hear the rain. That’s the sound 

of so many years 


on the roof of our little red house— 


               the feeling of the sound is 

as gentle & constant as your 

body beside me in our bed. 


                  Clouds    drifting. 


Cherry blossoms withhold sound. 


What you feel now is the wind 



the umbrella lift to one side. 


Feel the rain. That is the feeling 

of fingers on a face, 


what rain on the roof of a little red house 

            feels like. 



(for Ber Murphy)