His beard is slightly overgrown
Coming out in a cotillion of a smile—
First of the afternoon.
Then beating their way through the clouds
From a somewhat neutral day,
Flashes of sunlight expose themselves
The opposite of angry lightning.
Hands tremble with palsy
Or is it hesitation, mystification?
Quickly, he clasps his hands
Occupied with a deep urgent rubbing
Wind picks up, pushing the mountainous lofts of white.
Waning the soft, easy sunshine,
My window into the heavens,
Respite from the gloom.
I watch as a frown dawns
The horizon of his forehead, rippling.
Dark cumulous eyebrows meet,
Descending into confusion.
Billowing storm clouds
Meet-and-greet out at sea,
Finally, he is passive and peaceful,
Submissively bobbing along,
Trying to keep the flotsam and jetsam of his thoughts in sight.
The fog rolls in above the water,
Calm enough to be reflective.
With silky ease, it fills in, and blocks out, the ruins of a magnificent mind.
Margot Draycott, Age 15, Grade 10, Saint Ann’s School, Silver Key