Eve, Mother of the Living

Later, he lay by me, holding my hand

Under black sky, and asked what I missed most.

I should have answered: the cool evening walks,

Or the bright sight of the heavenly hosts,

The joyful lightness of body and soul

Without sin, our own love when it was pure.

Instead – oh, I miss how the rose hedges

Sang rich and low and the beech leaves answered!

I miss commanding the bugs away and

The trees to drop fruit in my palm.

I miss conducting with a whisper the

Treetops to blow and the high winds to calm.

All this, I killed. I turned away from him

And tried to sleep while the jackals howled.

September 23, 2012

copyright by the author
This poem is the latest in my Jewish Anthology, a collection of poems about people in the Bible. You can read all the poems by clicking on the link in the bar above, entitled A Jewish Anthology.