Poetry |

“Origin Story,” “Eve” & “To life”

Origin Story

 

 

when you become mother, the crow says,

you will want an origin story. something

 

divisible by 14 lines. explainable. containable.

and the child? your mind whispers like perfume

 

in an empty room. straight into the brink!

that’s the crow again, master of the domains

 

and laughing like the maniac you deserve.

you’ve been child many times. it’s nothing new.

 

your own mother tilled soil beneath two

ungenerous apple trees, cursed their anemic

 

branches. now you understand

the pH wasn’t quite right. maybe that’s why

 

you bloomed in all the wrong ways. you know

the kind of girl you were, the crow growls.

 

the kind to swallow a rotten apple whole.

the kind to swallow and everyone knew it.

 

you begin to hate this story. maybe that was

where it all began, you say, defiant. it’s okay

 

to look for love, and anyways, nobody

ever says the apples choose hardness

 

because it is their own. children, before

they fall, dangle on such fragile stems.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Eve

 

 

morning light. selfishness

reigns. fruit unchopped.

 

i do not tend to it.

children in socked feet

 

sniffle in beds. i do not

tend to it. this hour?

 

i own it in a way i have

not owned anything

 

though it is 2023.

every molecule

 

hairline to belly

knows it,

 

shimmers in it.

i am well-

 

moisturized. books

uncracked. liturgies

 

unheeded. it’s me

and forbidden fruit

 

in my teeth. god knows

how much

 

i have wanted

in this life.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

To life

 

 

Let’s imagine life an eternal flame.

Each face an unbearable light. Continents

aglow. Let’s raise holy sparks, why not,

transmit oxygen through prisms,

 

hold hands to screens and pray.

Let’s burn prayer circles

to the ground. The hands

are guns. The hymns bullets.

 

The soul viewed 9 million times.

But what if. The hands are oysters.

The hymns jewels. The soul a helix

of fiber optics that orbit the hospital

 

floors like rays of sunlight on the worst

day of your life. Let’s imagine Google

doesn’t know who will die, is not a cat

circling stiffened toes for 3 days. I learned

 

this happens from the hospice nurse who said

mothers can never let go. They take a long,

long time to die. My children want to know

what happens. What if. Let’s imagine

 

we live inside an orb of light.

Only strangers die, each face

a flame that leaps into the night.

We touch their blue skin

 

with our real, breathing hands.

They are inside the screen,

their future                  wiped              clean.

Contributor
Jennifer Garfield

Jennifer Garfield’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Threepenny Review, Sugar House Review, Frontier Poetry, Passengers Journal, and West Trestle Review. She is the recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Literary Grant and Martha’s Vineyard Institute for Creative Writing Fellowship. Recently, her work appeared as part of the Red Letters Project and Mass Poetry’s Hard Work of Hope Series. She lives and teaches in Massachusetts.

Posted in Poetry

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.