fills with its tenants:
The fork tumbles first, its tines
I could be rubber, I could be stone.
I resume my jealousy of solid objects,
This is a world of floating continents—
An odd stick-woman shoos me away with a sponge.
Little green floatation device.
I feel a plate, I feel a drain.
"Water Jealousy" began from an idea I had standing at the sink washing dishes one night. I looked at the floating objects and wondered what the water might think about the invasion of its universe and further, how it might feel disconnected somehow. I am working on a book of poems, Soap & Other Maladies, in which I examine the human undercurrent of inanimate objects, among other things. I recommend reading Nick Flynn's Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, Matthea Harvey's Sad Little Breathing Machine, and Victoria Lancelotta's Here in the World.