When you speak of her name,
those astringent vowels that melt across your tongue,
I feel green-eyed.
I want to spit venom, I want to sink my teeth into something fragile.
When you deny her blame,
those things she claims and assumes,
I feel ill.
I bite my tongue and clench my fists.
When you ask me if I'm fine,
I feel ashamed.
I shrug it off, but my thought slam and howl.


                                  I'm worried.