Hurricane Poem by Tsani Jones

Her eyes hold a sad
Sparkled beauty
While the storm
Rages just beneath the surface.

A child's picture is nestled
In her smock pocket
Like a war torn relic,
And she is beautiful...

So beautiful.

A shy, tired voice
Glides softly through
The air like a vapor,
A ghostly response.

I want to touch her
Make certain she is real
Give her my power to smile,
And my volume to throw into the world.

She waits for daylight
Like a gentle slumbering lily,
But her brief memory
Shall have me praying for dawn as well.

She is a mystery-
Perhaps I am the only
One possessed to
Unravel it. Maybe not...

So she stands there
In uneasy solitude.
I wish to disturb that quiet
With all my spirit-

I photograph her in my mind
Frame the image in purest gold,
Hold her face in my vision, sacred,
Like she holds that picture.

Wish that I was the one
To kiss her goodnight,
But her storm will rage on
In the solemn corners of my heart.

She is on one side of the universe
And I the other
But the moment holds its own pinprick of reality,
And steps lead to the squeak of the door.

I fail again. I fail to speak.
That is when I realize
I am a dollar short
But tomorrow...

Will I find I am a day late?