“Dream Catcher”

“Dream Catcher”

by Jade Nicole Beals

–for Kira

hear me read the poem:

You are a few years younger than me, and you’d already felt much wiser. I remember when you sent me a poem; I thought, is this by William Shakespeare? It can’t be for me? It is so good.

It was in the days of MySpace dressing up: Your eyes, so bright and lively, your face tranquil, lips a subtle, neutral wine-champagne, hair light, blonde-golden brown and softly curled, and a look of appreciation for the creative and the whimsical that would follow through in handwritten letters and conversations to come…

We met at the Manhattan Library in December, and I didn’t even think to look inside, and you might’ve known it was the library, and I didn’t, books and history were not on my mind, and we’d wandered out.

I wore a warm winter hat and a scarf. Your sneakers were pristine white. You bought a CD at Barnes and Noble of which you’d sent me the songs in the mail when you got home, one by Elizabeth and the Catapult. I think you bought a scarf too by the end of the night from a vibrant vendor on the sidewalk who was greatly excitable about finding out that I was from Brooklyn and you were from Ithaca.

I’d send you cards I’d handmade, you’d sent me a painted card with confetti and a gold ribbon, a poem you wrote for me I treasure and found I would wish to embody naturally…and the gorgeous speech you’d written and read at my wedding. You’d signed your name in letters with just your first initial, how you wove handmade dreamcatchers ever so skillfully and so deceptively simple; I’d sometimes place your handwritten letters beneath my pillow at night. 

You wrote me a letter outside sitting care-freely on the grass upstate New York with pen and paper; I’d read your words indoors at my desk in Brooklyn still afraid of “bugs” and tearing my papers to shreds in drafts to send you a letter more articulate, but I had found you liked my white sneakers with the smudges, always dreaming of my own antique garden. Another time, you wore a gorgeous black skirt outfit and black heeled shoes.

You’d describe a scent so succinctly like “wood-stony.” I could still breathe in the scent of the incense on the paper you’d lit when you’d write to me, from your home in Ithaca to New York City or to Massachusetts, where I lived, and your words reached far beyond that river in Ithaca and stronger too; they’d steadily winded their way on and wove into my mind and heart. You’d said I was your favorite poet, and how I’ve been enveloped in receiving your newest poems with an evolving style you’ve been writing, and also hoping to see you soon.


(from my prose poem project, just a glimpse with this poem as a concept is beginning to take shape, and I will work on any more poems in secret for the pleasure of an unread poetry book.)

2 responses to ““Dream Catcher””

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