The snake was incidental, 
neither metaphor nor motif, 
but gilding, shimmering scenery,
stretched lazily on the branch 
of the tree where Lilith led me
one warm evening. Adam was sleeping.
She lowered herself between two 
chunky roots, throne, birthing bed. 
I crawled forward and kissed 
the ribs beneath the eggs of her breasts. 
Demoness. Darkness. Dynamite. 
She split herself, I settled 
between her legs, and there, 
crowned by a thicket of hair, 
was an owl face, an apple. 
I licked the pip, sweet, stinging, 
and suddenly I knew everything. 

About the author:

Bex Hainsworth (she/her) is a bisexual poet and teacher based in Leicester, UK. She won the Collection HQ Prize as part of the East Riding Festival of Words and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Heavy Feather Review, Ethel Zine, Atrium, Okay Donkey, Acropolis Journal, and Brave Voices Magazine. Her debut pamphlet of ecopoetry will be published by Black Cat Poetry Press in 2023. Find her on Twitter @PoetBex.

Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash