Eden was exhausting. Too much
perfection; chance meetings
with God at any moment. Talking
snakes in the trees, fruit that tasted
of more than fruit: like flowers,
promises, prayers. Like eating
sunshine. Nothing changed:
God in the water, the air, even clouds
more God than vapor. Too easy
to love everyone, everything—the grass
brushing my calves felt like ecstasy.
My nerves endings distorted
like overloaded speakers at a party.
The beauty was unrelenting.
I don’t miss it. Look at this chipped mug,
there’s coffee stains inside.
Last week I cut my finger. Took forever
to get a Band-Aid;
my cupboards are a mess.
Couldn’t find a damned thing.
It felt amazing.
–
Rita Tiwari is a lifelong Oregonian, casual bird-watcher, and mother to many houseplants. She holds an MA in Writing from Portland State University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Pacific University. Her work is published or forthcoming in Permafrost Magazine, Sheila-Na-Gig, and I-70 Review.