Your mouth had not withdrawn
when you spoke of our inheritance—
the sins of Adam and Eve stuck to our skin,
mixed in our blood and running through our veins
how we were born filthy
and the taste of the forbidden apple which we ate lingered on our tongue.
But when I put forth a question,
your lips ceased to rumble,
your fingers crawled their ways to your scalp
as you itched it in wonder and confusion.

Why have we no inheritance of Solomon’s wealth or wisdom?
Why did we only take Adam’s and not Solomon’s form?
Why are we not beneficiaries of this endless wealth you once said existed?
The coins, beautiful robes and scrolls,
the lumber, silver and gold,
the pen with which he wrote poems and proverbs.
Why does it not come alongside Adam’s apple?

But you ceased to speak,
you brushed off my question
like dirt from a shirt,
you said, “You won’t comprehend.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash