Helen Harvey

 

Eden

 
I played back my
gulping thighs, our brittle embrace,
palms sewn together, our flight,
plucked from the sky and
botoxed into the untouched earth.
 
Silent in his watchtower,
overarching Terra, God
saw us stutter out into morning,
two purpling pimples, pus
on the blushered face of Eden.
 
Matured, we wrapped ourselves
in rustling raincoats, halted
at the gate. Empty.
Our eyes bowed; a nod
to his biting reign.

 

 

Helen was a commended Foyle Young Poet in 2006 and 2007

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