Posts Tagged ‘eve’

So Eve said to the snake,
I don’t really like fruit,
and the snake said to Eve
that the story would sound
much better down the line
with an apple instead
of a forbidden parsnip.
No one craves parsnips anyway,
he hissed. No one would believe
in the centuries to come
that a woman would risk everything
for a root. He was the kind
of snake that knew
what a difference
the right symbol can make.
Nope, said Eve, I’m just
not into apples. So
the snake did what any
snake would do, he
offered her what she
wanted, a parsnip,
with cream-colored flesh
and cream-colored skin,
and she bit
as he knew she would do,
but then he lied about it all,
said she’d eaten the apple.
It was better this way,
this lie so small, just one
tiny seed inside a much
greater garden.

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No one ever said
how high the apple was,
and just how much

of a stretch it might have been
for Eve to pick it.
I think about this today

as I reach for the small, round
purple fruits I cannot name.
There is pleasure and

frustration in not knowing
what to call something
so pleasuresome, so good.

The tree is tall. I do not
need a snake to invite me
to reach. And when I

devour the sweet purple flesh
and the soft cream around
the large black seeds,

I do not need anyone
to bid me take another bite.
I do not share.

From not far away, a rooster
crows. From not far away,
the sound of wind disturbing

dried banana leaves. Those
trees are not so difficult to reach.
Scent of the sea, is it? I do not

pause long to consider the possibilities,
purple juice streaming down
the long, not quite long enough

reach of my arm.

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