RHONDA GERISCH
Envy

I smell of envy
Green
Of dead confidences
And pickled outcast
My sides are thick
With seasonal destruction
Our breath
Is swallowed
To collect the bile
Of malevolence
And attempted purge
Introducing my words
As ugly aliens
Of my soul
My once divine capacity
Tolerates this
And I am milk
Upon a countertop overnight
Strained and soured
I grew to rancid
Upon the shelf
That held my prize
Of idealism
I will never be
Helen of Troy
And my sisters
Are perceived closer
To this throne
Could I be
Levened
By acknowledgment
Of faults as beauties?
As I once
Saw the ancient
But I am novice yet
And my grace period
May not extend
Backwards
To meet me