poetry

If Adam Picked the Apple

There would be a parade,

a celebration,

a holiday to commemorate

the day he sought enlightenment.

We would not speak of

temptation by the devil, rather,

we would laud Adam’s curiosity,

his desire for adventure

and knowing.

We would feast

on apple-inspired fare:

tortes, chutneys, pancakes, pies.

There would be plays and songs

reenacting his courage.

But it was Eve who grew bored,

weary of her captivity in Eden.

And a woman’s desire

for freedom is rarely a cause

for celebration.

Wild

Give me silvery strands,

the milky growth of aging

intertwined with the sediment

of youth.

Give me stretch marks

along thighs,

one gleaming stripe

for each year this body

survived winter.

Give me scars and sunspots,

proof of every season

weathered.

Give me laugh lines

like the hyena,

rooted canyons along

eyes and mouth,

impervious to wrinkle cream,

so profound was our joy.