posted on: Thursday March 25, 2010
Alex BetGeorge ’11/Portfolio Staff
Blow over a bottle’s
open neck, lips suspended,
parted above its glass gape.
It yields that sound: Low & hollow.
That voice spoke so
Eve would know not to
reach for the branch—not to
pluck the pomegranate
from the Tree of Good & Evil.
But she chose, Garden’s gates
gouged her ankle as she sprinted
through to the outside. HE needed no
eagle to pry Eve’s prodigal
liver from her side: Time sufficed,
& bound her youth withage.