RESPONDING TO EVE AFTER THE FALL BY AUGUSTE RODIN
By Sylvia Munoz
i am a cobblestone path, i
am a twisted metal sculpture
ruddy brass gleams to light man’s north star
i beg for ivy to grow thick over me, i
weave a bushel of my arms and legs
let the harsh sun dry me stiff.
this, too, is wanted
my cower glimpsed through red silks
my mute stillness is a rock
the breeze blowing through me a girlish whisper
ego lays spilled out
evaporating before my eyes.
the floodwater recedes, rakish and unconcerned
and the coast rages at the topographer
for deciding what disasters are inevitable.
if i could, i would be
a radio tower, sending out
infrasonic signals, or
a complex and gleaming satellite
proprietary, highly specialized technology
my limbs, beams running with voltage
my body coated in reflectives, my mind
repurposed to emit infrared
the coolness of space firm around me
like ice packed in a wound.
this, too, is wanted
the hissing kitten more endearing than its docile sister
my shame, too, is wanted
the snake rattling not in warning,
but boastful taunt.
and yet i, my choice, my thought, my naivete
is reviled in the same hot breath, i
am cast out
my punishment, another’s reward.
so let ivy grow thick over me
or better that, some endangered vine
prison and fine to those who unbury me
grace to those who let me rest.
