The Palm Before the Storm


Open hope in your hand
like ripe pomegranate
juice jewels,
open hope in your hand
like a cloth bound edition
with crisp dollars
between each ancient page.

Open hope in your hand
like the first bird's twitter
after a long night's rain,
open hope in your hand
like burst bean coffee scent, freshly ground
on a Saturday with no chores.

Open hope in your hand
like the buttons on a work shirt
after your shift,
open hope in your hand
like a door that takes both arms
against the wind.

Hope, is always in our hands.
Fists can't feel it.