Wednesday, February 24, 2010

eve and ada


Simply she stands at the door of her house,
smiling beside her twin sister called Ada,
indifferent to cats, not yet using a mouse
when writing, she soon will become a first grader.

She’s not found a man yet, nor even the apple
her namesake discovered in Eden’s great garden;
with problems of siblinghood she knows how to grapple,
largely since Ada is willing to pardon
her claims to be alpha, for both twins are that.
In the lane that’s called Basswood there isn’t a beta;
I love her far more than my Figaro cat,
but also am dearly enamored of Ada.

Both sisters are very familiar with God.
Unlike the first Eve, they both say the shema
every night before bed, so I give both a nod,
adoring them equally, both above par.

Inspired by my two granddaughters, and a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, “Eve.”
Simply she stands at the cathedral’s
great ascent, close to the rose window,
with the apple in the apple-pose,
guiltless-guilty once and for all

of the growing she gave birth to
since form the circle of eternities
loving she went forth, top struggle through
her way throughout the earth like a young year.

Ah, gladly yet a little in that land
Would she have lingered, heeding the harmony
And understanding of the animals.

But since she found the man determined,
She went with him, aspiring after death,
And she had as yet hardly known God.

© 2010 Gershon Hepner 2/24/10

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