December 2008
1 post
Eve in the Garden
I never asked to be the daughter Of an apple-eating serpent-loving temptress. Or to have these child bearing hips when the ladies in the magazines All look like starving prepubescent boys. Still, I remember the night when I found Blood-red splatters between my snowy thighs And my mother didn’t make me do the dishes. The boys- oh the boys- they learned To whistle at these roses budding...