It was late on a Wednesday afternoon; I hadn’t been expecting him.
He appeared at my door, quiet, hungry,
Still blazing from the remnants of the late summer sun.
I didn’t think you were coming, I blurted.
Didn’t you ask me to? He mused gently.
You’re late, I complain.
I’m right on time, he counters, unruffled.
He doesn’t look like anyone important,
Or how you’d expect
(his hair is too long, his clothes are ill fitting,
and an androgynous air sits heavy on his countenance like a mask).
Well, are you coming in or not? I challenge. He shrugs.
He sat at my table, unhurried, unconcerned, his hands folded in front of him.
I didn’t have any coffee or tea –water seemed too plain.
So I offered him wine.
We sat at the table, silent, my meal preparations quite forgotten.
I didn’t know where to start.
He doesn’t look like anything you’d expect,
But then you notice his eyes –how kind they are, and wise.
His hands are strong, his voice sweet like the twilight,
His presence as deep as the ocean and mysterious.
He doesn’t look like what you’d expect and you cannot help but love him.
You caught me unprepared, my voice trembles as I speak.
Preparation’s a bit overrated at this point, don’t you think?
I just shake my head, and for the first time, he smiles.
When my tears come spilling over my cheeks he sits beside me
And I remember how good it is to have a friend.
He sits with his presence inside my house,
I smile inside as we speak silently.
He doesn’t look like how you’d expect,
Or maybe we’ve just been caught up in our own expectations.
Finally, he kisses me on the mouth, rises to leave.
Elijah! My voice is harsh with constrained emotion.
Aren’t you coming back? Tears prick me eyes but I can’t bear to weep again.
He turns back to me, cups my face sweetly in his hands and smiles:
I never left.