We live in a copy of Eden

This vivid poem by Carolina Ebeid has been haunting me since I read it earlier this year.

Art by Kristina Closs


Because I have wanted
        to make you something

beautiful, I borrowed
       a book on how to keep

a bee-hive made of glass.
       An observatory

of translucent arteries
       lit with wing-gossip.

An allegory for the soul.
       Though what do I understand

of beauty that thrives
       in a place of exile.

(Bees can anger so.
       A grist of killers has swarmed
a boy beneath the windowsill.)
       You said the soul-to-be.

Vegetables flower
       outside. Squash-blossoms.

& for what is that
       an allegory?

We live in a copy
       of Eden, a copy

that depends on violence.