At a Crowded Party, I Am Not Envious


Jennifer Martelli

of the beautiful woman who walks behind me
her thick auburn hair, almost round eyes,
and breasts I couldn’t buy.  There’s a man
coming toward me, yes, but his eyes
are fixed on her promised land.

I am as meaningless
as a sea to this Moses—

he parts me and the crowd with a brush
of his hand, the back of his hand pressed
against my arm which has thus been touched
by complete want and adoration much
in the same way I’ve hoped God looks at me

I would walk in front of a beautiful woman one hundred thousand times
to be moved like that.

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