You shall surely die: Genesis 3

It was a kind of death,

the opening of my eyes;

never again would I see the world

as freshly created

in breathtaking innocence –

each serrated fern frond

a message from the Maker’s

sweet scented breath.

Red-hot shame suffused

my face when

I glanced at Adam

for without being told

I knew that his nakedness

was now twisted;

the pleasure and

amazement I once felt

in gazing at his muscular

flesh now threatened to

undo me.

Covering my own nakedness –

my hips seemed grotesquely wider

than I remembered –

I cowered

and trembled at every shaking shadow;

I had never noticed that for every glimmer

of golden light

a slender darkness hugged the underside

flicking in and out with the breeze

like a slithering tongue.

Then we heard the Creator’s footsteps

and instinctively dove deeper

into the musky shadows.

I could feel Adam’s breath

hot with fear,

stuttering on my shoulder.

He called to us and Adam answered –

it's not like he had a choice –

but then Adam was pointing at me,

drawing me into beam

of the Maker’s stern gaze

and I couldn’t take it;

I panicked and

pointed to the serpent,

stretched out on a boulder,

twitching its tail in pretended innocence.

Having traced the crime

through its multiple sources,

He paused a moment

before pronouncing our sentences.

Then, in a voice more of sorrow

than anger,

He called out the snake’s inner qualities –

made them external;

if he would creep let him creep,

and then the Creator surely only pronounced

what was already forming

in my heart:

a deep hatred for the slimy beast,

and gave me permission

to act on it.

Just as I was feeling vindicated,

He turned to me

but instead of slaying me

as I deserved,

instead of annihilating my womb,

and scarring my face,

He promised me pain

that I would remember my deception,

and hunger for Adam

who would stand above me,

that I might pity

the crawling serpent

below me.

Even Adam wasn’t exempt:

his calling to work

would no longer satisfy

without exacting a harsh price

from his flesh,

and after a lifetime of toil

the only sure reward

would be this thing called death.

Silence swirled around us,

made visible in the mists

rising with the coming of dusk.

Adam and I stood, naked and

shivering, uncertain if

the worst was over.

Looking into our eyes

as if to be certain we knew

that this too, was a result of our sin,

the Creator of all things

destroyed one of His creations.

A magnificent leopard

that moments before had rubbed its

spotted head against Adam’s

dangling hand

lay sprawled before us

without breath.

Stunned, we watched the infinite care

with which our Maker

removed the animal’s skin

and

used it to clothe us.

The inert form of the

naked leopard lay

like a pale stone

as

He took us both

by the hand

and

walked us

out of the

starlit

garden.