The City of Eden
You mean Garden, don’t you?
No, city, although there are apple trees there,
and snakes, lots of them, those you can see
and those you can’t. Adam names streets
as well as animals, and the bridges that surge over rivers.
Eve is there as well, sitting on a restaurant stool,
eating ribs. And somewhere there’s a scowling Satan,
angry as Ahab shaking his fist at God,
watching Adam and Eve making innocent love
before the fall, hissing and moaning
because he can’t stand seeing two people so happy,
here miles from their forest glen,
in the city of Eden, the city of now, and then.
More
More, she asks more,
can you write me another poem,
as if poems were as free as leaves on a branch,
Just growing there for anyone to pluck as needed.
But poems are not like that.
They ripen in the soul, and can only be given
As they allow themselves to be given.
And so here is this poem, in response to what you ask for.
Take it. Let it circulate around your body like blood.
Then tell me what it feels like to have my words
Dancing in the circuit of your being.
Let me know what it’s like to have my life in yours.
©F.Moramarco
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