Dear Jealousy

I know I said I hated you
            and left you years ago,

but I have been missing
            that something we had, call it

your heat. Meet me again
            in the desert. Come to the place

where I wrote that name
            in white quartz on the slope.

Remember how you drew me
            higher up the mesa, stumbling

through twists of unspurnable roots,
            pebbles skidding underfoot, how

into thin air you lifted me.
            I remember now to hold

my breath as I press into
            the embrace of those

who have gone into their lives without me.
            Once you held me so

firmly, dipped over the open
            view, your breath a steady

flame in my face
            and I knew I couldn't fall.

Copyright © 2008 Ellen Andolsek All rights reserved
from Quarterly West
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission