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May 2015

Last winter,
when snow softened streets
and windswept ice decorated
cold light-posts, you called
Minnesota "home--"
for the first time.

I sat across from you
as a Minnesotan might--
I looked you in the eye
while we shared conversation
and you avoided my gaze.

Face red like firelight,
you smiled at all the right words
and spoke softly, your
thick accent stumbling
over English.

Each time our eyes met,
a grin darted across your lips,
an unspoken assent
to a question I hadn't asked--
then, quickly, you trained your eyes
on my shoulder-- on my forehead.

Maybe, I thought, he's
traditional-- maybe my
V-neck makes him uncomfortable.


Today, I learned that
eye contact-- in your country--
is an invitation
to bed.
Soooo THAT'S why he was blushing so furiously, and THAT'S why it was awkward. I should study all eye contact rules, I guess-- even before talking to a Finn. Oops.
Natasha Teller
Written by
Natasha Teller
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