Risk, Courage, and Women: Contemporary Voices in Prose and Poetry

eve

250 eve Nanette Helena Yavel This carving of Eve, emerged like David. He from an abandoned marble slab, She from a twisted root that lay broken on the ground. With clear intent, I peeled the bark, And found her shapely waist, The bulbs of knees, A single breast. One arm spiraled, its hand a serpent’s mouth. The other, large and like a wing, lay welded to her back. She was burdened by this weight, So I whetted down the knife and shaped her gently, Not to break her crucial parts. I took her shoulders in my hands, And scraped the dust, Until the Devil’s horned embedded head Peered up at me. The tie was strong. So I took her long eccentric limbs and fashioned swans, Cut elephants and apes into her graceful frame, And on her slender neck, I placed a silver ring, one that I had never worn. I had bought it years ago, Not knowing that it held, Diana’s handsome features, With turtle doves entwined. Eve’s stately form, Unbalanced, could not stand. the real self The Tempter’s weight Was far too heavy on her wings. I wound a wire above her ribs, Where he and she were joined, And set her free. Now she sails above my bed At her own deliberate speed. A huntress smile on her face The Devil hoisted on her back. 251 ...