TO BE LIKE HIM
To hell with the apple--at her core,
Eve simply wanted to explore paradise
before converting it to Eden.
But she sought advice
from the problematic tree--the only tree
that would ever cut down a human.
Yet the scarlet, fertile fruit seduced her
as knowledge is hot, and once inflamed
the sassy lass snaked her way to Adam;
with each kiss, offered her hypothesis
on why she so desperately desired
the mind of the creator.
I know how she felt,
for the fateful flame was
not the type one holds for a lover;
still, it glows with want, blue
in the center with sin-red heat
inspiring the heart into submission.
But it is the psyche that fans the fire
and which designed Eve's descent--the fall
rendered as a consequence of some savage
angel extending his residence from heaven
to earthly woods, rather than being depicted
as merely a woman’s addiction to theory.
Clearly, how could Eve's craving forbidden
frameworks hidden in that hot-bed garden,
that is, her heady attraction to abstractions
sired first by some admired other,
be portrayed as depraved or as betrayal
when it feels so much like love?
To hell with the apple--at her core,
Eve simply wanted to explore paradise
before converting it to Eden.
But she sought advice
from the problematic tree--the only tree
that would ever cut down a human.
Yet the scarlet, fertile fruit seduced her
as knowledge is hot, and once inflamed
the sassy lass snaked her way to Adam;
with each kiss, offered her hypothesis
on why she so desperately desired
the mind of the creator.
I know how she felt,
for the fateful flame was
not the type one holds for a lover;
still, it glows with want, blue
in the center with sin-red heat
inspiring the heart into submission.
But it is the psyche that fans the fire
and which designed Eve's descent--the fall
rendered as a consequence of some savage
angel extending his residence from heaven
to earthly woods, rather than being depicted
as merely a woman’s addiction to theory.
Clearly, how could Eve's craving forbidden
frameworks hidden in that hot-bed garden,
that is, her heady attraction to abstractions
sired first by some admired other,
be portrayed as depraved or as betrayal
when it feels so much like love?
r.kv.r.y. quarterly winter 2007 poetry
by Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb
by Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb
painting by Tamara deLempicka