On the news they showed a stunning image—
Hovering in the distance a perfect, luminous rainbow
Missing only a pot of gold to be the stuff of fairies.
And just left of its midpoint,
The perfectly formed funnel of a tornado,
Penetrating purples and blues.
Such uncommon beauty—
Noisy color amidst dark clouds,
Clean lines of the horizon
Holding up a faultless arc,
Brimming with boundless prospects.
And the cone, so perfectly formed,
Its ridges narrowing to a point—
What is its point?
It exists only to destroy.
And why today—why was this particular moment of beauty
Chosen by that funnel, piercing through,
Casting no rainbows, leaving no treasure.
Helen Mazarakis lives in Montclair, New Jersey, and writes poetry and children’s fiction. She spent many years working for non-profits and government on community and economic development. With an empty nest looming on the horizon, Helen hopes to travel with her husband and spend more time with family in Virginia and Greece. Her poetic works-in-progress can be found on her blog, “A Desk Of My Own,” and she is currently working on a trilogy for middle-grades readers.