By Zara Khan
I sometimes wish English was a richer language
So I had more ways of telling you
how I feel about you –
Not so much hatred,
but a quiet kind of feeling, creeping
like the mulch on your decade-old shoes
that sit in your closet,
locked forever,
reflecting you.
The same as the grease on my fingers
spreading, every time I tried to enjoy you,
or the Twining’s extra-strong tea stain
developing every Monday morning on your
kitchen bench. (Your mother was correct,
you really shouldn’t re-use them).
I wish I had more ways of saying
how I feel about you,
but I’m comforted,
as I believe you already know.