I want to write about a girl
with auburn hair.
(It's not her natural color,
or at least it's not what springs out of her head,
but I think it's her true color.)

She is soft and severe,
fire and rain,
a smile that doesn't reach the eyes
and an effortlessly gentle soul
that shines from her gaze
when she's sure no one's looking,
but I usually am.
I can see that when somebody else notices her,
shutters fall and the house is boarded up.

It's hurricane season for her, always.
A never-ending tempest.

Swirling category four, cyclone in the flesh,
yet she stands there
solid-footed.
She is the eye of the storm.
She is the calm within the towering thunderstorms.

She touched my cheek accidentally
when she was helping disentangle my hair,
and I am caught in the wind and the rain
and the flame
and those green eyes.

Lord, help me not to sink.

There is no one here to help me if I do.