Umbrella Man’s Day
by Aoife Mannix
A dozen miniature glitter balls hang suspended over the water,
light dances waves along the wall.
The pool shimmers with disco droplets,
warm yellow blue through gentle mist
as the boy in the wheelchair is welcomed
to Indonesian chimes rolling rhythms from the mystical east.
White rafts are lowered to float small rings of soft splashes,
an electric turban lights the way.
Sweet hellos of gong struck gold purple pantaloons.
Third eye reflections breathe the burble of the smoke machine,
umbrellas sing their silver necklaces
draped around water drumming.
Sponges splish splash as the little girl
sways to the curl of her perfect burst of smile.
The sailing boat bops up and down
in time to the rhythm of rain.
The striking of the big gong freezes all
but the near silent whispering of water.
Bowls skim the surface, perforated wishes,
streams of laughter through golden light.
A riot of raindrops on open palms.
The mallet strikes wonder into the whoosh of colanders,
umbrellas open to the spraying of gamelan shelter,
and we are safe in clear plastic, a bubble of a home.
The happiness of children exploring silver tumblers,
bubbles that emerge from the deep.
The girl giggles as music is poured from a jug,
the joy of spray showers pattering on windows
where words are not needed.
The boy holds his own language in storms of sheer delight
as the white umbrella blesses his face with water kisses,
and all is still and soft and mellow.
The music eases into a rhythm written backwards
in the sky of clouds calling the names of children.
Aisha, Jacques, Tommy, Toby, Thomas.
We recognise ourselves in this opening of hidden treasures.
The drumming of goodbye dances
wrapped in pool dreams of possibility,
the squeeze of love in the grin of a child.
