I will not eat, not until I’m cold and shaking with hunger

with that hollowness

I will not

because that’s what Eve did, didn’t she

when she was put in the garden with all of the lovely things

and told not of what she could eat, told not of the things that would taste good

(beyond everything, a nebulous word that frightens more than invites)

but told only of the apple

of the thing that would bring pain

it’s all I’ve ever been told

the fruits of pain, of labor, of indulgence

so Eve waited until she could bear it no more

and she sunk her teeth into the rotting apple

it brought what was promised

so I am cursed

and stumble through life waiting to find the ripe fruit, the things that are good to eat

and I chew through the things that are awful as I go

I will never really know true satisfaction

Eve certainly didn’t

me and her, we only know that endless hollowness

or the sickening nausea of the apple