Eve I watch a grass snake small, cylindrical, cowardly, glide through the dark coverlet of kept yards, and I know how it must have been for you to watch the serpent twist around the jagged bark. Its scales a resplendent gold rubbing against the dark grain as it spiraled upward towards the orb that was so full as to bend the branch down, the fruit begging for your touch as Adam had. I know you wanted to be full and ripe like the apple. So, you reached around the tree naked, and rubbed your smooth nipples against it, climbing upwards until they were scratched and bloody like you arms, your legs, you hands that snatched the ornament away from the serpent's tounge laving its tight, waxy skin. You were not afraid, as you pulled the sphere free from the reach of the snake's fangs, because you did not know to be. And it was your teetch piercing the apple's outer skin the way shovels sink into the earth to make room for the coffins you sent us to. For you, I want to clench the snake's coils between my own teeth, and thrust my head through the soil's vulnerable skin, past the roots, so I can breathe dust, until it lines my throat, my stomach, my womb, that will give birth to the apple tree.
Reason for writing:
I submitted this poem because I was sick of my own cowardice. Please feel free to respond with any criticism or comments at LdyReanna@yahoo.com.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Christina Anderson/ Scorpio.