Love and tragedy at the dawn of the world.

Somewhere in Eden, the serpent lies waiting

Still seething, doubtless, from The Fall

Tomorrow, He will wrap himself ‘round my 

           fragile chest, and squeeze my stuttering heart

Tomorrow, the gates to paradise will close for the final time, 

           the bare world all before us

Tomorrow, my love and I shall run naked throughout 

           the woodlands

The weight of mortal lives

           heavy on our feet

And that is the damning curse of humanity

The pervasive urge to rebel

To lick the serpent’s tongue

To become like the Father, holy

And the fruit of knowledge is heavy in my naked hand

And the serpent says “You shall not surely die.”

Today, Hyacinth, the beloved, 

           drops violet petals upon the flower bed

Today, the young Menelaos loves Helen,

           the fair-haired

Today, the Tigris makes leaps towards paradise,

           desperate in its longing

Today, the citharist makes calls to 

           the lifeless things

With his song, he puts death on its heels

Today, I see my love beside me,

           surrounded still by the quiet beauty of the earth

By the dew-tipped grass heads, the water striders, the lightning bugs

By the grand meadows, and the cattle and 

           the beasts within them

By the box trees, and the killing oleanders, and the humble plant with

           the bell-shaped flowers

By sultry June nights and the dearest sunrise 

           and the four heavenly streams that flow still in the hereafter

He is bathed in swelling summer’s sun, the

           light like gold on his skin

I worship him to show my devotion

I devour him to show my love

Process

“The Morning, The Evening, The Eighth Day” began as a school-related exploration of Walt Whitman’s romanticist poetry, his writing style, and his narrative-like prose. It evolved, however, into an examination of the relationship between love and tragedy as depicted in the Bible and Greek mythos. In this poem, I attempted to contrast that perfect moment before disaster hits with the devastating, ruinous fall from grace.

Before getting started, I revisited a lot of my favorite myths and took some time to reread Genesis 1, 2, and 3. Since I’m not one to draft a piece in one go, I tried to go at my own pace, putting careful thought into each word. I poured a lot of myself into the speaker, which added a “naive” quality to her narration that I really enjoyed. All in all, it was a fun dive back into writing poetry. It was difficult, but I’m eternally grateful for both my mother and my mentor, whose neverending affirmations pushed me to see it through.