Eve

Eve

Not that one, that her,
the she so despised,
blamed one, fruit craving
fruitful one, but this: time
the waiting time, anticipant
hours that pace, that check
and check for shadows emissarial,
their length and impatience,
their drag and invitation
to look back, to summon
a staggering syntax—what if,
if only, next time, how come.
There was a street I knew
and grew into like an apricot tree.
It stood in storms.
I have its leaves somewhere,
their green whispering
that spoke to the air,
[Of daylight opening the sky]
to birds that saw the world
curve away into forever,
[Of summering winds]
to ants, streaming and crushable,
[Of weightlessness that bears most]
to bricks that rose into the walls
of our bedrooms, our kitchens,
[Of departures, wilding and avid].
I hear them, the green and whispering
proceedings, verging, anticipant,
the same, all incantations the same—
[This has begun…]
And I will remember,
remember, this day of November.

Yvette Christiansë
7 November 2016
2828 Broadway

About Yvette Christiansë

Yvette Christiansë is Professor of Africana Studies and English Literature at Barnard College in New York. Poet, novelist, and scholar, she was born and raised in South Africa. She is a graduate of the University of Sydney.