FARIDA MIHOUB

  

The House

While you try to figure out
what you see through the window,
I clean the room from its dust.
You tell me the trees are blooming
and the grass is greener.
From the kitchen, I just say, "Good,"
while I wipe the dishes dry.
The vacuum's noise fills the air,
you turn to me and say it's raining,
I can hardly hear.
I ask you
to move a little
so I can pick up the newspapers
you left on the floor.
Still at the window,
you ask me
if I remember the day
we bought this house.
I stop, and suddenly
memories come rushing.
Our meeting, our first kiss,
our passion, our wedding,
and the house with its promises.
Yes, what a day, what a joy!