ALLEGORY Poem: Genesis, by Ilana Davis

“Take a bite,” the snake says slyly.
“Nibble at it lightly.
It’s rightfully yours; give in to temptation.
You’ll need the energy to birth a generation.”

Then the snake slithers away.
The apple turns to stone.
I’m in the Garden of Eden,
Naked and alone.

My body’s not a temple.
It’s barely a home.
It is made for creation.
(for pleasure and sensation) –
But not all my own.
Broken into and looted and set aflame.
This is a woman’s fate.

“Oh Eve, what have you done?”
Adam asks, squinting toward the sun.
“I leave for a moment; you have your fun.
Now god will never grant me a son.
I guess I’ll have to do it on my own.”

He grabs my breasts and settles on top and kisses my lips and I can’t yell: Stop.
I close my eyes (tightly).
It’s best to suppress moments of distress.
I open them (slightly).
Adam’s possessed. He’s an animal. No – he’s a man.
Am I to be impressed by his might and finesse?
His hands grip my throat as he screams out: “Yes!”
He’s done.
We rest.

“Well, that was fun,” Adam says, reaching for the fruit.
He eats the apple. He chokes. It gets stuck in his throat.
He spits it out but a chunk is still there.
Adam’s Apple – his sin to bear.

The Garden, once thriving, turns bleak and dreary.
We’ve overstayed our welcome.
God, can you hear me?
I have no words left; I’m weak and weary.

We leave the oasis and set out on foot
With apples in hand and my tarnished youth.
I move with endless wisdom and barren dreams,
Adam lives on; the King of Kings.

Get dressed.
Suppress.
Repress.
Keep moving forward.
I must progress.

There’s life inside me and a twinge of loneliness.