Tomorrow
TOMORROW
Tomorrow keeps on
Lifting her delicate hand
And flipping back strands of
Her colored, cherry-brown hair,
Which hang alonside her neck…
Grown long enough to just touch
Her collarbone.
Embellished with floral
And feathered pins,
Her exquisite hair flows down
Like the ironed lines
Of a cut and straightened
Halo…
Volumes of secrets Tomorrow knows
About what symbols live in those strands:
Silky, so thick, with a soft sweep
On down from from
The crown of her head
To cover her collar, and
Which she keeps absently
Tossing into the air
With the long fingers of her right hand
— Fingers turned and slightly bent,
Like a ballerina’s poised hands.
This is Tomorrow’s nervous habit
Manifest
Of present worries — burdening
Since childhood
To now — of things that
Are
Or could, shocking, crop up.
Tomorrow tries
To daydream away her sensing
Some of the possible, provoking streams
Of events — standing, waiting
In this day’s wings
For time’s cues to begin
Acting out the better or dreaded things.
As Tomorrow remains
Always
There, inclined in her earth-toned chair,
With her eyes half-closed,
In a Divinely gifted peace, subject
To the Divine power, who reigns over her ways.
And Tomorrow,
With us giving her reasons,
Continues
Tossing back strands of her hair.
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(c) sally young eslinger 7/16/2023
Thanks be to God—-
Copyright © Sally Eslinger | Year Posted 2023
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