The Eve of Creation

Before there was, there was not – not him nor you
nor God, but us.  Together we broiled and hummed in the darkness,

sinking into each other and growing pregnant with the idea.
In paradise, you knew nothing of good or evil and Adam and God

would do the craziest things when they were drunk on their godliness.
Picture this: standing in the shadow of a tree that drips

teardropped red apples from its twisted branches.
Envision the birth of the world reflected in their shine.

See this,
looking up from the apple cupped in your palm,

its white wound spitting a juice that slides coolness down your arm
and pools in the young dirt at your feet:

Adam lounging in the sun, his eyes closed.
He is with God there and doesn’t even know.

Be assured.  The world could cease and Adam wouldn’t give a shit.
After you cradle his head and press the fruit to his lips,

he will see you by the breasts growing from your chest.
Know this.  You have given this beautiful, awful world a reason to exist.

A covenant barring destruction marked not by rainbows,
but the scream of a woman giving birth to its children.

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