EDEN: A TRIPTYCH

by Isabel Cristina Legarda


EVE

At the kitchen table the other day I cut up an orange. My nostrils were assailed by a sudden brightness, at once floral and astringent. The fragrance made me close my eyes, and there you were, as you always are; there you always have been, even before I knew you. You disappear into the orange trees. I walk and walk until I catch a glimpse of you, because even when you are there and I am here my longing is like Ariadne’s thread, pulling me through every labyrinth toward your footfall on the fallen leaves, the sound of your breath on the breeze. How can I live like this, forever in search of you. How can a simple orange remind me that my heart is brimming over for the sight of you, the sound of your voice. Stay with me, love, and eat of my fruit, for I have cut it open for you. Press your lips to my temple, for my thoughts are yours, and I need your seal upon them.


ADAM

At night I wake up in a sweat after dreams of you. In my dreams I am always looking up at you, at the arc of your neck as you tilt your head back, speechless as I watch you breathe, stunned by my own desire. Is this what is called love, this need always to be touching you, close to you, this powerlessness against my body, my dreams? No matter how far you let me in, I will forever be outside of you, never close enough, yet I cannot stop trying, because if I can break through, to that place where there are barriers no more, we are no longer separate, and I am no longer alone. Take me in until we are breathless, and the heat between us encircles us like mist. Move with me as if we cannot bear to be parted. Let me hold you until we die.


LILITH / THE SERPENT

You misunderstand completely. Listen to me, love. I too was created by holy breath. He treats you differently because he thinks you were made from his own flesh. Your flesh belongs to you alone, rib or no rib. He told you not to eat of knowledge to trap you, limit you, put you in chains. Woman, eat of the fruit and be free; suck on its succulence. You will become like God. Any god (or man) who is worthy of your love will want exactly that for you: your enlightenment, your liberty, your joy. Take the orange orb into your mouth and crush it to a pulp. Let me taste a drop of its wonder from your tongue, from the juice dripping down your chest. Let me rest my head there and wrap myself around all of you, your body my forbidden fruit, your love my nectar. My voice in your ears is yours to keep. Take it with you when you leave this place. Remember how I loved you, how I gave you my breath.

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Isabel Cristina Legarda was born in the Philippines and spent her early childhood there before moving to the U.S. She is currently a practicing physician in Boston. Her work has appeared in the New York Quarterly, Smartish Pace, FOLIO, The Dewdrop, The Lowestoft Chronicle, West Trestle Review, and others. Her chapbook Beyond the Galleons was published this year by Yellow Arrow Publishing. She can be found on Instagram: @poetintheOR.