Another Eve Poem

Her Legacy, My Legacy
Lauren YoungDraft 1

My mother is thousands of years old – Eve, baby,
I know why you ate of that tree,
but I don’t hate you for it:
daughters are supposed to love their mothers.
I was there, you know,
in your womb,
clamoring to be born, trying
to cut my way through line,
aching to make another choice
that would reverse the one you made.
But I came slowly through
the bloody line, a line
that I don’t consciously remember,
but tried to wait until it was my turn.
Into a world, washed in afterbirth,
I was cleansed – I could
breathe because of a doctor’s fingers.
And now my womb
waits to will the corrupt
inheritance of this old earth
and imperfect life to another
baby – my daughter, my sister.