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.