Sunday 11 April 2021 | 4:21 AM Damascus Time
Stavroula Biou

The Letter

The Letter
Mary Cassatt (American Painter 1844-1929).
  • Tuesday 27 October 2020

The Letter

Your letter has arrived today
In my hands
No, it is your email that has arrived
Yet I printed it, my love
I folded it and I sealed it
In an envelope
Just to feel your presence
In a way
To feel your embrace in its closing
Your touch in every letter
Your scent

If you knew how much I missed you…
You wrote that the Iris has grown
That we had planted together
Do you remember?
And how ugly you look right now
With your messed up hair
Your beard that has harden your face
If you knew how much I want to touch you
To feel this harshness in my face
At least

You wrote that you’re staring at my photos
To keep my memory alive
My picture
I do the same
Even if I see you every night
In my dreams
Will I see you only in my dreams?

Till when, my love?
Till when will this curse that threw us miles apart
Torment us?
Didn’t we live our fair share of catastrophes,
Of floods and disasters
Of walls?

This will vanish too, like a shooting star
And the moment will come
That I will hold you again
And the defenses will fall
And my hands will find
Your hands
But I’m afraid
That you won’t recognize me.

(English translate: Andreas Antoniou)