I’d never let them make me ashamed of my nakedness I would tell God to kick Adam out of the garden Not because he’s a man—oh, we love men! Because he was a coward. Then God and I would sit beneath the tree and feast on the crunchy flesh of our own knowledge I think we’d tell stories about the humans that would come from her and me together I have a feeling that God would be inexplicably good at stand-up comedy The two of us would be rolling in the grass, tears down our faces, sun on our chests If I were Eve, I would ask God for a brave man Maybe she would crack him from my rib, though I suspect she’d make him from the earth itself Tree trunks for strong legs, calloused hands like rough rocks, and salt for the tears he would be strong enough to cry God would tell me he was no gift for me, but that we were gifts to each other I’d ask her to make me fertile I’d ask her to make me wise I’d ask her to stay with us, though I already know she’d agree. Rules were rules, and we must leave the garden eventually But first, we would make love that shakes the ground itself Breaks the gates wide open The angels would drop their flaming swords to watch in wonder Then I’d grow my own fruit, sweet and slow I’d give birth in the soft wet grass If I were Eve, I would gather up enough apples to feed them to my children I’d weave crowns of flowers for all our heads I would carry our son on my back, and he would carry our daughter Like this, we would explore our new world We would weave our knowledge and mirth and faithfulness through the very fabric of the universe itself I would take the seeds of the fruit and plant them every time we stopped to sleep And like this, we would walk across the world God skipping beside us The sun’s rays and the fat drops of rain coming down on our shoulders Man and woman, together If I were Eve, that’s what I would do.

A military father Asthmatic lungs A hard fall that cost me half a tooth There was that deep fear in my childhood bones I wondered Would the darkness consume me whole? Would it chew me first? Would it ever spit me out? I found myself in the great belly of it all I grabbed the tongue of the whale itself and yanked I put my back into it I slammed the walls of the inside of its mouth I kicked it before I wore these thick boots (I am me, after all) It spat me a thousand miles into the sky I was free Then I was falling Still, afraid Falling Falling fast The wind whipped at me while I took the bones of my arms and fashioned them into wings I stripped my flesh and stretched it I made my own wings from the body my mother made me I was once just the seed in my own grandmother’s womb Then a child Then a woman Then a bird Then Oh God, oh Goddess, oh Me! I flew.

When I toss and crash among the sheets of my own bed When I am in the thick soup of it all I walk outside. Remind myself that I am fertile soil and things must always grow. I am talking of Icelandic Poppies I mean Primrose, Snapdragons and Grape Hyacinth Camellias often bloom with snow still on their petals Cornflowers are considered weeds and yet— they still bloom bright blue every winter in every big empty field. Last night an old friend from another life left a bouquet on my doorstep Like love letters the petals speak When I feel my own petals wilting The eye bags deepen The doubt grows in my chest like a disease The morning hangs on me like a thick blanket I am reminded I have my own cycles of bloom and decay If I am in my winter, I remember my friends are like spring When I am in the heavy rains, they are the sun gentle and warming There is still the embrace of my son, heavy and sweet The art tugging me ever toward it The warm beverage, chai or chocolate The kisses long and deep A million million reasons to stay warm against the storms Like last Friday, My daughter’s preschool teacher tells me her laugh is full-bodied and wonderful I tell her, I know I tell her, I have recordings of it when she was born It erupts like the California poppies on every hillside in California while the air is still cool Alive, Bold, unafraid of distracting drivers on the I-15 South. Last weekend, I attended a black-tie dinner I wore a cream dress with every color flower cascading down the front like a waterfall of vigor The next day a woman stops me at breakfast and says, “I loved that you wore color when everyone wore black” I said, simply, “I am allergic to black” and we laughed. Do not mistake me, I am not afraid of the depths, the darks, or the cold But I always remember When I am chilled to my very bones: Flowers still bloom in the winter.