Cursed… cursed… I was rib and ready, bark against my skin Serpent kissed the curve where the knowing could begin He whispered “taste and rise,” and my pride said “amen” One bite and the lightning split me open — amen again Fruit burst like blood between my teeth, sweet as stolen fire Foolish woman laughing while the garden caught desire Oh the leaves fell trembling, we hid our naked higher I was bone of his bone… till the bite made me liar Serpent, you promised gods — now tell me what you see A mother’s ground already splitting under me Cursed… cursed… the ground beneath these bleeding feet Cursed… cursed… the womb that pulses with defeat Blood as fruit, ripe and falling, harvested too soon I reached for the divine — now the divine reaches back with thorns and moon Sacred body, punished body — tearing open wide Eve in the evening… still tasting what she tried I named them with milk still warm, sap running down my thighs Cain like the first clenched fist, Abel like the softer skies I rocked them where the tree once stood, its shadow on my breast Whispered “grow beyond the hunger I confessed” But the field drank Abel deep — blood as fruit again Cain’s hands were my own hands, red with original sin The ground I plowed with labor now plowed with brother’s pain Mother of all living… mother of this stain God of the garden, did You watch me reach so bold? Serpent in the branches, “Was the fire worth the cold?” I screamed at the silence while my body split in two Every labor tore the veil — sacred punishment I grew Now one son wanders marked, the other sleeps beneath the loam My prideful foolishness gave murder its first home Womb as ground, ground as tomb — how does love divide? Tell me, ancient liar… did you know they’d die? Cursed… cursed… the ground… the womb… Yet from this broken soil, from the ache I consume A seed will push through darkness, heel bruised but unafraid He will crush your proud head where the first lie was laid Blood as fruit will ripen different — not for death, but life Sacred body, punished body… still becoming wife To the promise spoken softly when the garden first went gray Eve in the evening… breathing… Still hoping… The serpent’s head will break one day Bone of his bone… bite of my own… Cursed… cursed… But the seed… the seed… Is coming home.
