At the beginning, Eve was given a rib
The King of the living decreed that the currency of love be
Not because that is all he wanted
But because that is all she—and all after—would have.
Coins made of sinews, muscles and various fluids,
The crown jewels floating in cerebral fluid— crushed by expanding lungs,
Nestled deep in the abdomen among thick coils.
At twelve she gave her first present,
Clumsily cried, gasping and gaping with a swollen nose
Prickling tears, rolling like the tide
Across arms wrapped around
The chest: little inverted points like snow cones that slowly melted
A misshapen jumble that would swell.
With the transformation from training to lace bras,
Eve dared to give more.
The slightest wisp of saliva hanging off pouting lips,
Weaving webs—closer—they say. Closer
Lending body parts: the small of the back, the apex of the thighs,
The breasts—roughly grabbed as if they were hand holds on a rock wall–
And burgundy blots of first blood on childhood sheets
White sheets, dirty sheets, car seats.
Adam traded blood for semen wastefully.
Erratically across stomachs
On snow bank mounds of crumpled toilet paper
In oily, deflated snakeskin coils— resting in waste bins
On her. In her.
New beds— hospital beds.
More blood. Not dried blots or old clumps but
Fresh blood giving way to new pulses,
The climax of cramps and brown tampon strings.
And so Eve became Tiamat: torn apart for love
Baggy skin and skeleton shaking in the aftershocks of creation.
She sat at home, stitches holding her organs in
Dividing her body into its separate parts
Chest swollen and weeping— a new gift
Curled around new life, new love
Her stomach distended, becoming softer and pliant.
Adam had not envisioned this kind of inflation.
He had picked a rare currency however,
And Eve had given all she had.
Her mind had floated elsewhere
Her heart recalibrated the pulse
Her womb was dormant
Sleepy in contentment—believing she had given the last and
Greatest gift of all.
By Rebecca Wihl, Contributor
All Images via Google Images