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I’ll See You Tomorrow

By Jamie Ramsay

By Jamie RamsayPublished 3 months ago 3 min read


I will clean my room and my kitchen and the back seat of my car, wondering what you will look like when you get here.


I won’t know what else to clean because I’ll be nervous, because the whole world will be nervous; I guess we’d be ashamed to call it fear.

Tomorrow is the big day,

A few weeks ago I didn’t have a say,

Now I’m the one who has to greet this thing.

They told me it was my responsibility,

To somehow find the recipe;

A friendly whisper of truce,

That I must somehow wiggle loose.

Tomorrow, I am to introduce an alien to planet earth.

I am to show it around.

And I cannot sleep, knowing I don’t do well in crowds.

And tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, there will damn sure be a crowd, and it will damn sure be loud loud loud.

I look in the mirror and notice the bags under my eyes.

But I can’t remember the last time I’d slept anyway.

To say it was due to the events of tomorrow would just be one of many lies.

I’ve been this way ever since my mother died.


I clean my room and my kitchen and the back seat of my car, wondering what you will look like when you get here.


I don’t know what else to clean, too busy hoping you won’t show up, hoping I might be in the clear.

Today is the big day,

And suddenly I’m in my car, and suddenly I’m on the way.

I could scream.

Right now, the car doesn’t feel so clean.

I look in the rear view mirror of my car and study the bags under my eyes,

To say I don’t often clean my house in place of sleeping would just be one of many lies.

I’ve been this way ever since my mother died.

There’s hardly a parking spot to park my car, so I have to park kind of far.

But I’m thankful for the extra meters I have to walk, my fingers and toes feel kind of stuck.

I swirl and buzz and ponder, thinking…

Where will be the first place I take it?

What will be deemed fit?

What will be the first object I place into it’s hand?

What will I show it to make it understand?

I’m getting closer

And I think…

Do I bring it home with me?

Will it be jet legged from the trip, and need to sleep?

Will my bed be the first thing it sees?

There is a sea of bodies crowded around the UFO, but I forgot to wear my glasses so it’s just a blur that, as I get closer, begins to grow.

The voices around me are hushed and busy, and nobody approaches me.

They give me room to breathe, but it wouldn’t make a difference otherwise because

I’m damn sure dizzy.

As I approach the door, I still haven’t come up with anything clever,

So I twist my hair with one hand, and with the other I press down a foreign looking lever.

The door swings open,

It all kind of happens in slow motion,

I’m struck with some strange, familiar emotion, and I don’t know why…

I can’t help it,

I start to cry.

The alien is my height.

Her eyes are a soft, aqua blue.

Her skin is hollow looking, as if I could see through.

I can see her heart beating as fast as mine.

And suddenly I’ve lost track of time.

How long have we been standing here, staring at each other?

She has a distinct smell of dish soap, old blankets stuffed inside an old chest, leather...

She smells exactly like my mother.

She has trouble with the seat belt, and I’m shaking so bad that I have trouble too.

The drive home is longer and quieter than I anticipated, although I’m not sure I ever had a clue.

We get home and I take off my shoes

I watch her take off hers too, thinking

Now what do I do?

Then I have an idea.

It’s not an object that I will place into her hand,

It’s an object on the wall, an object not made to understand.

So I take her cold hand, and lead her to my room.

I grab my glasses off the countertop so I can see clearer.

And I take her to the object on the wall…

I take her to the mirror.

I wiped it down so many times today it couldn’t be any cleaner.

I watch her heart skip a beat as she looks into her own eyes,

Seeing herself for the very first time.

surreal poetrysad poetrynature poetryinspirationalfact or fictionart

About the Creator

Jamie Ramsay

Every word is chosen from my throat, in the moments I feel too human.

I am your guide into the sinkhole.

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insight

  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

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Comments (3)

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  • Rachel Deemingabout a month ago

    Very, very moving, Jamie. Is it an alien or is it the poet's actual mother? Either way, there is distance here. I liked the way you got me thinking.

  • Gosh this was so beautiful! And I loved that you made the alien a female!

  • Celia in Underland3 months ago

    I absolutely love the build up to the event-so cleverly done! A mirror is the perfect idea-Love t! 🤍

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