Eve Splits Open

I never held paradise.

Weaved under a shroud
I had no chance

to speckle the blackest night.

What luminous rifts
if darkness never fell?

An oak without limbs
can’t reach for sky.
Uncracked,

the acorn will never know its worth,

might forget it’s an acorn at all
and not a rock,
a knob in a leathered tree.

I am not some piece of bone.

I stopped pressing my ear
toward empty sky.

I split open.

Formed branches.
Found the fruit I’d borne myself.
Bit into myself.

Chewed each bite slowly.

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Copyright © 2012 Jennifer Givhan.

Jennifer Givhan retains all rights to this work, granting Fickle Muses one-time, non-exclusive electronic publication rights. Please contact the creator to request permission for reprints or other uses of this work.

Poetry,

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