Envy, Bitter Envy

Envyfor Joel Dias-Porter

The Poem
is a motherfucker

and mine, at least, insists

upon the logic of magic, the magic logic
of a brutal hide-and-seek, a peek

inside the wild miles

it needs to go

inside its hiding place, that squealing trap-
floor, then the slamming

door, behind your eyeball, oh dear, unscratchable

itch, the little snitch

but who belies this fool? Only another
kind of wretch who’ll also try

to stitch together disparate things.

But, oh, to sing–

to open up
to pass the yearning
from my cup

to yours, a single trill

wrenched from my throat,
sorrow
joy
a single note

oh, every perfect line I never wrote–

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About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
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