Eve’s New Eyes


Salma Elmehdawi/The Observer


Salma Elmehdawi/The Observer

Eve squints her new eyes.


The trees, glimmering

in their fresh bark suits,

want to know her name.


The sharpened grass blades

at her feet, white as pear juice,

want to know why she came.


In her, an organ is pushing up a glass tooth.

Beating too, wants her to obey.


Around her, a city skyline

tries on new clothes.

Long legs pulling up and down

gold pantyhose.


She can hear him now

through the floorboards.

Her teeth, on the wings of a kiss,

refusing to miss Adam’s apple

lodged in his neck

like corkscrew

or an alarm clock

ringing for her.