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Rachael Mar 2021
I thought I knew what envy was

When I threw that stupid fit when I was seven

While my sister who didn’t like to draw

Won the art contest, instead of me.

I thought I knew what envy was

On a Monday, when I was thirteen and pimpled

While my best friend’s face  

Was smooth, caked with foundation.

I thought I knew what envy was  

The summer before senior year taking tests

While after it all we compared scores,

And I wondered what I could’ve done better.  

I thought I knew what envy was

That it was quick, and runny in passing

That it was something that slips, slurped down your throat

Vindictive and vicious  

But cured: by making them cookies.

I thought I knew what envy was—

But I didn’t.

Envy is not smooth, but sticks

Stopped, stuck in your throat

Stagnant, it chokes.  

Envy is not green, but grey

You bat it away

But the fog overstays

Its welcome.

Envy is not thin, but fat

A wall—and for all of your gall

You cannot peek over.

Envy does not look out

Through narrow, hot eyes  

Shifting gazes, suspicious  

With hisses and cries

It doesn’t pace up and down

And beg you to listen—

Envy is silent. You can’t say, “Do you hear it?”  

I thought I knew what envy was  

When I was twelve, in Sunday school

White ribbons and smooth skirts

Under verses of thou shalt not covet---

But oh man, I didn’t.
Rachael Aug 2020
I am her eyes
I am his nose
I am her losing things
(She’ll never know)

I have his shades of brown
I have her chin
I have his serious
And both of their grin

Artist, writer, father, mother
Dreams in words, dreams in color
Clung together
Years another
Handed to an eldest daughter.

— The End —