The Treacle Well

Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.

George Eliot


That bright red monkey screams and I remember. My vision turns a shade darker, my heart drums a slow angry beat. My fingers twitch, imagining a throat, and my mouth twitches at the pictures in my head. What dark thread, running through the seams of my mind, has begun to unravel? And under that benighted skin, I see:

(twisting, shining)

Your face.