Adam was sitting
in the blue recliner—
his eyes, glazed donuts
of dissatisfaction—he
held a beer in his hands,
and he wept.
Was your fall
cruelest to you,
because you knew
perfection and true
happiness—or am I
the worse off, because
I can’t know what to
aspire for—what to
want?
Your crying is
not unmanly—you
have seen your sons
kill each other—
witnessed hate in those
you raised with love.
And Eve, your
blessed Eve, she’s in
the kitchen with an
apron on—she doesn’t
smile at you the way
she used to anymore.
You can’t trust her
like you once did,
since ember innocence
died out, but you still
love her.
How it hurt you,
Adam, to witness
her anguish—first
in childbirth then
at child’s death—
Eve used to think
she was beautiful, but
now all she sees is
stretch marks and wrinkles.
Still, Eve is the
only one who
knows your pain
of loss—she comes
up to hold your hand,
and a tear leaves her
eye—she misses Eden
too.