Dear God,

When Eve was cast out of Eden and no one was there to hear her, did she make a sound? Did she whimper or well up and pop? Or did she soundlessly weep in the night, sowing her tears in the earth? Her silence salt crusted the rocks that jutted through the once-fertile soil womb like fangs. Her agony was all she had left to give. And what of Adam, who got to stay? The Sin was his, the blame was his. And yet, the deed to Eden remained in his name. Eve still sees his red form, his beaded eyes, against the star-studded nights, of course, because she owes him, you see. It was he who gave her life, named her life, and took her life away. Eve let herself be seduced by shimmering scales and fork-tongued falsehoods. She never learned eyes that don’t blink can’t be trusted. The bitch was asking for it, really. You know, the slut was just wearing a fig leaf. 



This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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