becoming Eve
has it always been about this? shrugging off the
penance bandaged onto my back black and white
as sculpted gardens at dusk
never really breathing.

how good it feels to move to break the silence

with nerves and

jarring the insensibilities of the other statues
resting there
but I would rather be Eve-awkward
than remain.

I can see my flesh again
I can feel the wind kiss my exposed face.

I threw myself outwards and fell hard
perhaps it had to be this way
but I learned what it felt like to hit the ground
as a real thing.
I found I had arms and legs that bruised and bled.

walking feels anything but natural
yet within me there is a cry to run

let the sun burn off my remains of the hard exterior.

what a joy to feel afraid.

Hilary Johnston is a postgraduate student at Laidlaw College