The Garden Wall

You have eyes red like roses,

Adam had told her.

A flower named,

a woman still flowered.

Lilith would not bend to him,

nor bear his children.

She would birth shadows instead.

Ephemeral things, too fragile for daylight.

To dull the grief of constant loss,

Lilith would peek over the garden wall

at her golden haired replacement.

A woman as lovely as summer’s Eve.

Her eyes were distant and wide

but always curious.

Her body a reflection,

a distortion of Lilith’s own flesh.

They say a snake tricked this golden girl,

but there was no snake.

Lilith saw all, and knows the truth.

She ate the apple because she wanted.

She ate because she was made empty.

Made to satisfy, without satisfaction.

She ate because she was born hungry,

and knew no other way to fill the void.

Women aren’t supposed to want things.

They aren’t supposed to take things.

Certainly not forbidden fruit, red as roses.

Red as Lilith’s eyes.