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Creation of Eve/Sleep of Adam

Ruth Towne

My ribcage should blossom soon.

I wait the long hours of an afternoon


for blooms. I imagine soul within skin, 

a housecat that hides behind a curtain 


on the windowsill with the dust. Flowers 

in body seem more reasonable. Peonies, 


I think pink peonies, petals soft as feathers, 

downy flowers will bud soon with sun. 


The bones of my ribcage articulate to one 

another under my skin, hidden roots 


that have yet to produce. I wait for symbol, 

for my bones to reduce. Another Adam and Eve, 


you gave a rib to me. If love is our Eden, 

a paradise, why am I alone? A peony petal, 


a single rib, he loves me, he loves me 

not. In your sleep, you bleed, I bloom. 


See the deep roots, my petals spread,

invert their curves. Tell me I am beautiful.