Eve, as her eyelids trembled open, lay
Awake, took in and let go air, without.
It seemed in the sometime of night the part
Of her that felt, that pulsed, had gone away
And left within a dullness and slight ache
As if she were a fruit begun to rot.
Beside her Adam slept. She did not want
Nor not want him. She felt him stir awake
But didn’t turn to face him. Birds in their
First song of day existed, with the breeze
Against her cheek, in another world, apart
From her, and she could only look upon it
Through clouded eyes and faintly hope that she’s
Not going mad but simply lost somewhere.
[JASMINE LAMB is currently attending Woodbury College in Montpelier,
Vermont. In the summers, she serves as the Residence Director of the
Governor’s Institute on the Arts. This is her first literary publication.]