she’d never eaten the fruit
before she made the mistake
of sharing some with that dimwit
Adam, who of course confessed, babbled
like a frightened child
the first time God looked crosswise
at him. Actually, she’d been snatching
bites here and there for years.
Neither God nor Adam had been observant
enough to notice the extra lightness
in her step, the little smiles for no
particular reason, the way she laughed
as if their dry jokes were funny
or how she sat entranced by the wings
of the dragonfly, as if each beat were a reprise
of her heart, a count of the minutes, hours, days
until the making of a cocoon
or perhaps the breaking of one.
Previously published in The Pinch.