19 May 2018

Chapter one verse twenty-eight, a poem by Rethabile Masilo

Be fruitful and increase in number;
fill the earth and subdue it.
—Genesis 1:28

Her flaming hair
in God's whole power,
even as heat swells
the atmosphere damp;
he hums a jingle
and continues to spin
pedicel to fibre, four-leaf
clovers, daisies, grinning.
'Six days,' he says aloud—
this has took long enough
already. They’re in a motel room
with centrefolds on the walls
(from filthy magazines),
and behind her Adam
waiting with the stump
of himself in his hands
like someone holding
a tree-trunk with veins,
the brine of Eve in him,
even as she tosses her hair
to turn him into a creature
whose need is to mate
with her now. In her head
a new light shines
on the flowing strands
of her reddish tresses
which are translucent
like queues of fireflies bugs
in a world she shares
with a fruit, this man,
a serpent, and no obdurate
people to curse her
when the pleasure begins
to deform her glad face.

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