Eve’s Journey

In the tender light of late afternoon, 
Eve at last arrives. She’s climbed 
the shaded slope, but even in Paradise, 
there are perilous trails. Surely, 
she is weary. Perhaps it took her days. 
Her face bears the marks of her travels. 
But she’s been told of the tree 
and has come to see it now. And here, 
on this high ground, the great canopy 
fills the air. Bats and monkeys 
and golden orioles gather round 
its generous branches, heavy with fruit. 
And now, does she eat and somehow see 
beyond the hand-sized, heart-shaped leaves? 
See within the figs, where eager wasps 
lay their eggs, live and die within 
a few short hours— 
life and death and death and life again. 
A brief astonishment, over all too soon. 
This flawed interlude given her, 
an ancient story older than her own— 
and all of it now hers to understand, 
or not to understand at all. And one day, 
she will be a solitary walker along 
some wind-worn shore, a landscape 
far beyond the easy garden with its easy blooms. 
And she’ll remember all of this again: 
How she held beauty and remorse 
within her arms and heard the hum 
of angels’ voices—innocent and glorious, 
carried around her on a steady wind.