I oblige the genesis

lay the loins facedown on the grass

indulge the sun, the fruits,

his throbbing rib, all he lacks

— is it all of me?

I roam the springs, ice on bare skin

watching the hollow in his chest,

tracing it inside of me.

Not the second sex if God’s a woman,

birthing me through him.

The vipers shed with me

and the serpent speaks and the streams

wet me all sin-green.

She speaks of the power in me,

warns me it will ache

as it does every month

and swivels up my right arm in the dips

of muscles and around my neck.

In squeezing pulses she strokes

her veiny muscles on me.

I see him

and take take take

the answer from the tree,

bring my lips to its flesh

to the poison lust red

and he watches

wishing to be as free.

Eyes on the juice down my chin

down my throat, ears to the teeth

skin to the way my mouth opens —

in ways it never did for him.

Masticated faith he follows my lead

already envious of my wholeness

offers his hand

and I give him more than he can be.


Author: Michela Sottura