An Age Ago
Eve,
The first time I see your face is in anger. We’re stranded in the morning light, framed by lilies and lavender, clinging together in the Garden for the last time, cast away from everything we know by the claws of a cruel God. (You were not created for me, just as I was not created from him.) Your eyes are dark brown and your lips look like a refuge. You are the most beautiful woman in the universe, a goddess of love and wisdom. You remind me of a hurricane and your dress’s laces weave together like strands in a loom. You’re angry with me, as always, and your dark hair flows over your shoulders like venom. The rolling hills smell of incense and myrrh. (Some nights, secretly, when Father’s ear is turned from us, I think I’d rather reek of brimstone.)