Carrot Colored Words

The dialogue goes something like this:
"I love you," I say, it being the end
of our conversation. "I love you,"
you sigh weakly after long silence.

I challenge your desultry reply.
"It's the word," you say. "It's been
overused. We need to find a better."
I accept the task. For nights I search

for carrot colored words, for words
with tails and purple horns and long
red sashes round their middles. I scream
for green words with yellow spotted stomachs.

My doctor friend tells me how patients
miss medical terms. A woman in Georgia
spoke of suffering from "Smiling Mighty
Jesus," meaning spinal meningitis.

Another had "Fireballs of the Eucharist,"
in reality fibroids fo the uterus. If I
could choose, I'd take Jesus, too. And those
fireballs beat fibroids all to hell.

That's the kind of word I want. I fireball
you. I smiling mighty Jesus you. It's cute
and satisfies your need for something new
but it's not exactly what I mean to say.

What I mean to say is--if I was dying
and I could choose one person in the world
to sit and hold my hand and hear whatever
words I had to say--it would be you.

and I know no better term for that
than love. If I find one, I'll let you know.

written by Anthony S. Abbott