by Matt Escott

I was born into absence.
In a garden glowing with the glory of God
There was left a space - 
Shrouded in the dark, a desire I could not name
Hinted at with all the wonders that walked before me
Hungry for their names.

With one word, oblivion.
On rushed a sleep deeper than the death
I didn’t yet know.
Waking to pain and poetry,
Side scarred to set the pattern where
Love demands a loss.
Still: my flesh and bone, knit to greater beauty.

We were given paradise.
Hands entwined we wandered our gift and charge
Full of His fierce splendour, star-drenched,
A winding river watering us all. 
And at the centre: twin trees 
Roots tangled in their offer 
Tempting us to wear divinity.

My tongue still tastes that fruit.
Mouth flooded with sin as my teeth pierced its skin
Our naked frames suddenly ugly things craving covering,
Desperate to disown my own flesh and bone -
Yet nothing compared to the fear and despair
Of when I heard that voice searching for me.

And now we sit in ashes.
Our faces lit by a flaming sword
Bodies clothed in that first kill -
This rotting reminder of our awful exile.
Serpent stung, staggering,
Toiling sweat-stained soil that will not willingly
Yield its stubborn fruit.

She will not believe my love.
I cannot blame her
Blame fell so freely from my lips
That day our lies were laid bare,
As though her guilt were somehow
Greater than mine
A measure not measured against myself.

I hold her in broken arms.
In hope that it might turn her heart
I bare my skin to show the scar
Whispering words that echo strangely:
Come.
Touch.
Believe.

---

Matt Escott lives in Toronto with his wife and 6-year-old twins. For the past 10 years, he has worked with youth experiencing homelessness, and is currently developing a mentorship program for youth in foster care. He has been published in Ekstasis, OneArt, Stone Poetry Quarterly, and Heart of Flesh.