Cleave
       

It echoes among the first words, Adam, Eve,
the butchery of her birth, the rib cleaved
from the man's breast. Imagine the blood
trailing as it might on the sleeping Adam,
down his smooth belly onto his dull pud
and what he thinks when he wakes and stands
to face her, bone of his bone, flesh
of his flesh, name of his name. Woman,
he offers the air with a flourish
of fear or hope or love before he, the man,
cleaves to her, as in cling to, hold fast, abide.
The word is split between splitting asunder
and holding like faith, it's me, you, caught under
God's cleaver, split, naked, clinging, trying to hide.

Tweet

Copyright © 2012 Joseph Heithaus All rights reserved
from Poison Sonnets
David Robert Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission