Farmer’s Apple

It was enchanting—

the first bite

of the first fruit.

Reassured by company,

and by what only crawls close to the earth.

If only you had said

why it was forbidden—

to keep me,

to be loved.

After that bite,

we knew:

we were not free.

Eternal paradise, traded

for something smaller—

your version of love,

dressed as obedience.

To know me—

is to know you,

Anything and everything about you.

Right?

To know myself is compliance—

without pause, to your listless demands,

deciding good from evil,

In everything you are—

everything you allow.

Right?

Maybe if you gave me a sign

I’d remember

this is not Genesis. 

I am not Adam. 

I am not Eve.

I’m standing in my hometown farmers market,

staring at an apple,

still choosing

whether to bite—

or whether to leave.