Ghost of Earth ©

I Was That Serpent in the Garden of Eden

February 4, 2017 Poems, Uncategorized, Word, Writing

It is impossible
to know
just how long it was
after rising
from between
my mothers
swollen hips
that I turned on her
hooded, kid-cobra
by way of
gifting bright
red fingertips.

Dripping of twin blood
she slipped away
but I don’t remember
watching where she went
or which expression
she fit to her face
after that,
what weather she was;
thunderstorm or mist.

My memory is flooded
by machinations
not my own.

I am haunted by
unloving things I said
as a child.

Words given to me
by other human beings,
ones who knew
how to love
but didn’t.

Related articles