A shrub sprouted and
Curled into a twig,
Seven-star leaves unfurled overnight,
Expelling spores and perfumed light.
She was there—
Towering the briars herself,
Her golden skin was exposed—
Furry ferns wrapped her loin and groin.
One might assume her admiring
An angelic goddess,
“It will grow into a tree,”
The angel said, spreading its wings
“Is this the tree?”
“It is still young.”
“But this is a tree, it has an apple too!”
“Eat it; it will turn you into a man”
“I have eaten it, and it grew in my throat,
My lips were juicy and my chest was so lighter.
Overnight, it melted into a lump;
I swallowed it but it did not flinch.
I own a voice I can’t understand,
I sing strange runes and riddles.”
She then plucked the ferns
Around her navel
“Look at me; am I not like Adam?”
Ismim Putera is a poet and an amateur fictionist from Sarawak, Malaysian Borneo. His works can be found in Ghostheart, Ayaskala, Prismatica, Orris Roots, Al-Qasas, Eksentrika and Anak Sastra.