Adam

JUNE 1989

STEPHEN DOBYNS

ADAM

It was something like a hole in the air,

a blank place in the Garden. All else

he had studied-each animal, each flower,

to everything else he had given a name-

only this tree with its peculiar fruit,

which, by being nameless, became most visible,

the bruise one is trying to ignore, while

in its presence a whole body disappears.

It was wrong to blame the woman.

Probably she didn't say no loudly enough,

no more than that. Probably she only said

it was a bad idea or you'd better not.

And he shook his head and turned away.

One never hears how long he held out-

a month, a year, ten years. How long

did it keep sticking its pin in him,

this fictitious vacancy? Until, of course,

he had to name it, taste it, touch each leaf.

What were his regrets after the expulsion?

At least nothing was left to surprise him.

And whatever he named that fruit he probably

called it most bountiful, because it taught him

the very worst, and wouldn't this protect him,

wouldn't it be a weapon against all to come?