The Garden at Earth's Close

Deep South v.3. n.1. (Autumn 1997)

I.   Eve Surmises Her Past

I think I moved away;
I think I pushed him into my left horizon;
I think I rushed along the right curve of the river,
stepped out of his reach,
made myself whole as a new forest,
then returned his broken rib to the clay
banks of autumned Eden.

II.  Re-Framing the Garden

I want to stretch you open,
ground and frame you,
trim you to a shape of my making,
naranjo blooming white and orange-scented
against a forked trellis; luisa, my lemon verbena;
lagrimado peral--tear-stained pear tree;
manzana de hueso en mi pescuezo, sweet sweet
apple-bone / Adam's apple / apple-core:
you, your body, you seed in me.

III. Re-Membering Eden

What I saw past leaf, branch,
and fruit: He stood too near,
wilted man--slow to grasp
my thought best left un-known,
cored. I made myself, clothed,
then returned his seed. Crushed.

IV.  Threading Back Past Foliage

This palm measures a parted sea
between your scapulas, finds safety
among the sticky unfolding of covert-feathers
nestled too long. We unthread
these cloistered plumes, disrobed,
nude against my fingers.

Take wing, alight,
this body like a clap of bees--
simple the sweep as you outstretch
your hand like a bone
or clipped wing bent and bruised:
Now, kiss this, make it whole.