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. ————————————————————————- (c) sally young eslinger 7/16/2023 Thanks be to God—-