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.