Eve's First Memory
No I only We
Coupled grasping shouting sweating - O!
Then empty. The grass tickles.
A breeze crackles palm fronds,
smells like ripe dates.
I look at him lying there snoring.
I wish I could remember more, but there's only
this wet spot I'm lying in, and sweat drying,
and that O! that beautiful that full feeling of We,
the fragrance of ripe fruit making my mouth water.
Imagine standing in front of the counter at Carvel's
thinking it matters whether you bring home rocky
road or cookie dough. What do you notice first?
Surely the ground shakes. There must be a sound,
a blast of humid air. Or do those senses shut down
while the mind tries to process the lie of your eyes:
Your wife, your kids, your house, your whole street,
mud four stories high, a clean sweep toward the sea?
Your brain won't let you grasp facts laid bare. Ditto,
for another regular Joe, home from the hardware store,
shoes off, cold brew on the coffee table. He falls asleep
on the couch with the TV on, and you hope like hell he was
still asleep when the SUV skidded across his front yard,
slamming through vinyl siding, studs, R-19 and wallboard
all splintered like popsicle sticks. That's all it takes: one
snap of the cosmic fingers. Like that: no place like home.