I love you.
Not because I keep your picture in my wallet
or on the cell phone screen
or on the silver frame besides our bed
or because the cards I give you
for different life’s occasions say so
or because this is the line we usually end our phone conversations with.
Even this poem and her older sisters
fighting hard over who becomes your favorite,
do not speak it loud enough.
The ladybug could tell you
the hours I spend talking about you,
how she gets jealous in the middle of the conversation
and suddenly leaves without an excuse.
The bronze man sitting on the metal bench
in St. George Boulevard
would acknowledge the evenings
I spend besides him painting,
how he admires the colors and tiny details
I always remember about you
the hair, the clothes, the accessories.
And every time I finish one of your portraits,
he is so impressed that he uncrosses his legs
and smiles showing me his greenish teeth.
You can also look within the crease of our relationship,
you will find a hidden routine waiting
for his chance to bite me
and to shed his venom into my veins,
how agitated he is becoming lately
for failing day after day to catch me.
And remember a few days ago,
when the birds woke-up startled
by a sharp and loud scream
shredding the night’s silence into pieces
and the lights got turned on
brightening the souls and the dark windows.
A scream was heard by folks already awake
in the other hemispheres,
its frequency made their bones gel
and had their hearts skipping beats.
Yes darling that was my scream
with the same words I shush every night into your ears
while you are asleep
I love you.
© 2009 Khaled KE Mahmoud
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