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Subject: "Eve"

Author: Jessica (November 20th, 2007)

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: 17:01:35 12/02/07 Sun . I. The moon is something he gives me, And I fetch water, pick the apples, The moon he presents periodically One by one, pearls slipped onto my strand As though they were never mine And I am shamed into wearing them, One pearl, one moon, each month Somehow a mark of his ownership A blood bondswoman Paid in trinkets, empty vessel Picking apples, singing to myself. II. When the apple trees bloom Flush and pink, Fragile and fragrant, New. He plants his seedlings. Across the orchard, I watch. He pounds the earth Rageful, forceful. Exerting, sweating, burnt. Drops his seedlings in the wounds of the earth. Moves on. The flowers fall off the trees In showers as he passes. Snows. Curtains. I stand beneath them. Note each white petal drop And drift in his wake. He planted the seedlings. I tend them, and the others, Quietly. Singing to myself. He watches now. His orchard. I move beneath the green skies, My songs tuneless. As they grow round, So too, do I. As they grow red, I ripen. He watches now. His orchard. His seedlings. And when we bear, He will call the fruit his own. . [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]