Eve, a History
After Masaccio
Then we came away into a great hunger.
Now life among our kind is an unseemliness,
and we are forbidden the stations of light.
When he called me green, green,
I was full of leaves and sap for him,
but when the waters met and brought the night,
he took no joy in even our rough-skinned babies.
Now nor god nor master. We live with what we’ve done.
With what they say we’ve done. Our manner
is war and begetting, grieving.
Our bread is stone and our blankets, nettles.
– ann fisher-wirth