Robin Rosen Chang

The Fig Leaf

Only two of them there
and a menagerie: 
spider monkeys leaping
between trees, lions sleeping,
peacocks flaunting gaudy feathers
with eyes, the snake
who’d seen it all, now preoccupied
with the disappearance of its feet.
Why would Adam and Eve
bother fashioning leaves
when plump purple orbs
hung beneath begging to be eaten?
Adam’s mouth, moist with hunger—
he took the first bite, chewed slowly
in the beginning, marveled
how pink and lush its flesh,
and reveled in its texture,
more complex than the apple’s.
He devoured handfuls
as Eve pondered why
knowledge made them hide
what gave them pleasure.