246: A Morning With Eve

She looks for herself

in the patchwork of his face

as she leans over him.

He sleeps.

She fits herself into the lines,

his jaw, his nose, the arch

of his eyebrows. Like her,

but not.

They tell her she is made

of him. The same

as him.

She does not see it.

Where he is sharp, she is round.

Where he is stern, she is kind.

Where he is self-righteous, she is compassionate.

She does not see it.

She does not want it.

She rises. There is a garden

to which she must tend

before he tramples the roses

for stinging his fingers.

For all she cares, he can rot

amid the blades of green grass.

At least then

he would be useful.

---

Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

---

Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.