So Much Went Into

Maya Pindyck

Cream sheets draped bodily.

Eye-slits to see
and hand-holes for hands

to lift corners — not too carefully—
punctured the texture.

She could not tell
his hand from her hunt:
a bull? The thing had horns
and should not have been carried
too caringly —

Doggedly, the first son.
Gold streaks defined his shadow.
Pale darkness followed.

Two ribs split
Indian red. Came Adam.

Judge's Comments

Timothy Liu, final judge

This poem audaciously reimagines the primal scene of Eden, the genesis of the family romance turned on its regendered head, our poet poking the biblical myth full of holes not to be easily refilled but left open like a gaping wound. Something plundered while the mystery remains intact.