Found this in the LJ group greatpoets. Thought you might like it:
EVE
I protected him back then it wasn't really my affair. It was his garden and his god and I was shocked to see him grovel and sob apologies to a voice I couldn't hear.
(The gods I listened to were more than one: I heard them singing in fruits in stars in grasses in water inside of stones; and even now, 5,000 years away from Paradise, I feel them all around me: in the oily ocean, in the grass-cracked sidewalk, in the apple tree that crookedly grows up beside my fire escape on West 100th Street in New York City.
My world is full of gods I never mention.) But anyway, back then I saw him fallen and I couldn't stand it so I said the words I knew would make things better. And things were better except we had to leave
that place. Now people ask me: Was it like the stories? Were peaches bright as wax fruit? Were berries fat as Christmas decorations? 'And how about that apple? Was it sweet as chocolate or liqueur? Did you feel sinful? Are you sorry?
But honestly, I don't remember if it was an apple or an orange or why I thought I wanted to eat it, then. I do remember him his body as firm as fruit flesh what it felt like lying with him in wild mint and lemon grasses what I smelled and tasted
when we were lovers. Now we're married.
At night we lie beside each other on flowered sheets.
His snores are comforting as radiator steam. My body is the only home he hasn't had to leave. 'We never talk about that other time when he lay broken and I protected him.
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branchandroot![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-17 06:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-17 06:11 pm (UTC)EVE
I
protected him
back then it wasn't
really my affair. It was
his garden and his god
and I was shocked
to see him grovel
and sob apologies to
a voice I couldn't hear.
(The gods I listened to
were more than one:
I heard them singing
in fruits in stars in grasses
in water
inside of stones;
and even now,
5,000 years away
from Paradise,
I feel them all around me:
in the oily ocean,
in the grass-cracked sidewalk,
in the apple tree
that crookedly grows up
beside my fire escape
on West 100th Street
in New York City.
My world is full of gods
I never mention.)
But anyway,
back then
I saw him fallen and
I couldn't stand it so
I said the words I knew
would make things better.
And things were better
except we had to leave
that place.
Now people ask me:
Was it like the stories?
Were peaches bright as wax fruit?
Were berries fat as Christmas decorations?
'And how about that apple?
Was it sweet
as chocolate or liqueur?
Did you feel sinful?
Are you sorry?
But honestly,
I don't remember if it was
an apple or an orange
or why I thought I wanted
to eat it, then. I do
remember him his body
as firm as fruit flesh
what it felt like lying with him
in wild mint and lemon grasses
what I smelled and tasted
when we were lovers.
Now we're married.
At night
we lie
beside each other
on flowered sheets.
His snores are comforting
as radiator steam.
My body is
the only home
he hasn't had to leave.
'We never talk about
that other time
when he lay broken
and I protected him.
He never will
forgive me.
--Enid Dame
(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-18 02:41 am (UTC)