The Green of Long Island

I blamed
you unnecessarily today
shut mouth, sealed cement
thick with my tongue & not
one gravel crumble fell no
chip of mortar flaked as I
observed the green of Long Island
from the passenger seat.

You spilled a full cup
of tears, turned down the radio
and barely above the talk
show hosts barely above
their crude jokes & blaring
sound effects, barely above,
your voice crept on knee & palm
to me, asking, "Please"
asking, "Please tell me."   pleading
"Don't."

But I, strangely proud of the white
wall I'd built between us did not
exhale, did not blink or shatter-
could not say.   Instead, I observed
the green of Long Island as we whizzed
by trees.   As we stopped at red
streetlights.   As we drove in the silence
of my most vicious strength.

- copyright, Sabrina Chapadjiev, 2006