2007 Poetry Contest Honorable Mention
Mammon
“And Adam called his wife’s name Eve; because she was the mother of all living.” (Gen. 3:20)
I.
Laurel tossed, we leave ourselves
lost as we are
the wanton world our choice.
We ate to know,
we ache now to be
known as we are.
Moving, a glance over our
slumped shoulders,
vows broken by our voice,
we trail our glory
through the earth we tread.
Our feet leaving a
path we can never retrace.
II.
We have heaven on our feet,
clinging to the remains of our
garden selves. With a glance,
I know his thoughts. Still, his
choice was his. But blame is
easier than belief. Silently, we
tread. I look forward, wishing
my leaves were living. Wanting
to be known as I am, now.
III.
I remember
the flora,
and the sweet
smell of laurel,
and the feeling of
ease and of eternity.
I remember
the fruit,
and one forbidden
as it was.
I remember
what I wanted:
to know.
I wasn’t beguiled,
I was born.
And I tread,
knowing the truth
of myself.
IV.
The look is still in his eye, but
belief is there as well. Time has
made the sweat of his brow make
him. Our children wonder what
it was that made us choose. The
serpent underfoot is under felt.
And still, we tread, and trail our
glory through the earth, our feet
leaving a path traced by our world.
Elizabeth Wolfe spends her days reviewing tax returns and her nights trying to forget what she does for a living. She induces this forgetfulness by reading an eclectic selection of books, writing a never-ending short story, and watching her turtle swim.
