Droplets Slide Down the Pine and Land Upon the Grass Within a Slow Dance for May Ziadeh Timelines wind and curl beyond the edges of my paper and I wonder which songs your lips had sung. Had Satie’s piano notes swung so often through your room and after a time, your own fingertips upon the piano? Your voice is not audible but so close upon me. You might have known a certain set of hills you’d rush up and sweetly reach for the reddest strawberry and years gone awry, had you bridged the gap between the grass and the upward lift to meet a true kiss? You sat between your pair of pines; I look within my own through the glass. I imagine you’d tilted your face when you heard someone you loved speak and they’d seen you’d heard them. Do you hear me? I won’t draw you too near, but I’d wished I’d known your tears then to write pages that would shake them into tears of being loved so well, and I recall that touch of appreciation without the defined shape or coolness of hands before I knew you well. Did you draw me in? I don't need to know; I would’ve come anyway: I kiss each page for you beneath the gleam of your smile as you lean down toward me, my tears landing safely in your hands.
This Ring (a ghazal) Which shape ring do you think you would choose? Would you hear my call for you, my cue and choose? Would you pause a moment to listen and ask me, If I know it is you whom I choose? I know the shapes and colors and hues you might name would be many. And yet do I know the coolest blue of you whom I choose? It feels safe for me to fall back within your shade. I’ll fall asleep and rest within it, this cool blue you could not choose. I’ll awaken and warm the silence that enwraps the blue within you. I'll fill your sadness with my poems and patient silences, for you whom I choose. I might wish to find you the perfect scarf to go along with that ring. It could be long, fitted, or flowing—a shade of blue I do choose. Your lips are the color of the quietest roses which are the most beautiful. They’re brightly-painted sometimes, too and every hue of which I’d choose. That brightness will not flash in and flash out and stun the eyes. You are the rose who remains—I might place a rose hue upon your face, too, if you choose. The green leaves that sprung up and burned away collected at our feet; I've loved them. Dying or just born, I gather them: poems, paintings, roses—anything you choose. I may not paint myself within a great portrait of my own. I find myself so often unspoken, my love not repeated—but in everything I do, I choose. I may lift my cup and drink my water and know nothing of the silkiness that's within the cup. You may suddenly lift me up and kiss me and I'll save everything we do, I choose. The water I drink is fresh and cool and I'll pour another glass for you. You may surprise me with a warmer hue of blue and blush to follow, if it is you who I choose. I may laugh for you, but I like your laugh even more. Silent and open tonight is my door, if you do so choose… Within your name, I hear the ring of my own. Come inside, you know it is you whom I choose!
Jade Nicole Beals is a writer, painter, and yoga teacher living in Massachusetts. She graduated magna cum laude from Brooklyn College where she earned her degree in English Literature. Jade is the author of two books of poetry, Moonflower and A Little Honey Sweetens The Flame. She blogs at jadenicolebeals.com.
[…] read my poems in the issue, click This Ring and Other Poem, by Jade Nicole Beals – Indelible. Clicking the cover of the magazine on the right side of Indelible’s page will show you the […]
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