by Jade Nicole Beals

(poem read)

Because I wanted to surprise you with my contrast to the idea that not everyone you meet in the day wants to give you something—make you a cup of coffee, or tea with a teaspoon of fresh tea leaves, show you my art originals. I have a ton of 1800s hobbies, and I am always drawing more in my sketchbooks.

Because I was not ready, and my hair was not fully combed at the time; I was cleaning my home, and incomplete with it. I was about to get spa-ready afterwards.

I noticed that I did not mind that I was not ready. I think your eyes are a light, cheerful blue, that they narrow with a look of mischief or amusement that sends a sweet, unexpected sensation through the heart.

Talking at a real-time pace that I like, your hair is a blonde I cannot put into the language of tone; silky…You may have stood on your toes at a time; I do this often.

You still felt like someone new; because you were louder than others and outwardly happy. You were near to my height; I was glad to face you. I’d felt your creativity, but it didn’t have to be directly. I felt like my very guest is now here, as if having traveled from far away.

I do not mind if someone picks up my TV remotes; I don’t know how to use them fully, or what the TV is for exactly in the year 2023. I don’t think you spotted them, and my cat was hiding away in another room, camouflaged.

After you left, I found that you were in fact you, and I would have had you go into any of the rooms you’d wanted because if you wanted you should. My teacup with flowers and faith I’d just finished was empty, and my novel notebook and pen, which I was working on just before you’d arrived, were on the table.

You were someone I would have wanted to meet in New York. You’d had a Boston accent, with a new, soothing rhythm that was neither Boston nor New York. I heard you speak like music.

I had spoken a little slower on the phone that time, to be calming and to keep you a little longer. So I stood at home feeling a little lost, a sweet perfume in the air I’d not noticed while you were here but just after.

your footsteps 
must have been so quiet 
I did not hear you come or go 


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