Flicking a light switch on and off,
I detect your tension.
Folding clothes from a laundry basket,
I sense your frustration.
Placing utensils in the kitchen drawer,
I shudder at your anger…

When I jut out my head to stare at you inquisitively,
you look at me as if I’m certifiably insane,
staring blankly as you ask,

               “What?”

Upon further confrontation,
with an ungiving body and eyes widening,
you whisper your barely audible reply,

               “Nothing.”

I’ve been told it’s part of a relationship,
you know, the ebb and flow.
My dearest and most trusted friends,
who I’ve confided in with the utmost transparency,
have accused me of being paranoid.
But I solemnly vow that I feel it-
that resentment.
I feel it soundly circulating throughout,
it’s in your every movement-
I can feel it, even if you continue to deny it.
I’m reasonably certain I know what I feel.

She wouldn’t be turning the gaslight on and off…
                …would she?