Engraving of Adam and Eve

Heavy, sharp-edged knife,
downward stroke,
crunching sliss,
onto the cutting board,
and an apple is two hemispheres rocking.

Seeds spill or cling to their tiny wombs.
Juice droplets run.
Rocking slows, stops.

The knife lies beside these two
smooth surfaces alike, so recently one
flesh darkens.
And fuzz, brownish, scumbles the smooth
The two cuts.

Quick. The knife.
Slice a lemon and let its juice bathe, burn
the cuts.
Press halves together, wrap in plastic.
No air. No more changes.

The halves fit together.
But with a seam.

To fit together

"So God created man ... male and female created he them." (Genesis 1:27, KJV)

At some point in primordial life, cells split in a new way and we had the sexes. And now, we are left with an instinct to merge with the opposite, to allow someone to fill our empty places, to mend someone else's cracked, broken places. To trust that we will be accepted. What Eve had in mind?

Illustration courtesy Art Institute of Chicago. Detail from Engraving. Albrect Durer. 1504. Clarence Buckingham Collection.