The Storm

By Lolly Spindler

A thimble full of sorrow,
the wind forcing tears to leave meandering wet trails on her cheeks.
A pink nose under umbrella eyelashes,
full lips parted by an exhale of surrender.
The power of the wind peeling off her layers
laying her bare
thrusting its gusts against her exposed acceptance.
Strands of hair caught in her mouth, her nose, her eyes,
restless broken bits maniacally thrashing about her skull
looking to be tamed.
An opening of herself to peaceful submission.
The brutality of the storm,
its thundering pulse against her body,
countered by a recently discovered internal pool of unrippled tranquility.
A space sacred, untouched, impervious to the shrapnel of the outside world.