How you go on about the other woman
by Linda Laderman
you say, Lilith is a lunatic. Lilith is daring.
Lilith’s body is a bird. How she snubbed
the snake & spurned your overtures.
You love to hate this woman who refused.
I see your eyes mist each time you mention
her raven red hair. Does it remind you of fire?
Make up your mind. Has she become your fantasy,
or is she nothing more than a failed encounter?
I hear she steals babies. We have two older
ones at each other’s throats, one wild with rage.
I wonder if she’d take them. The more I think
about her, the more I find traits I envy, like
the time she told the trio of angels, sent by G,
to bring her back to the garden, how unmoved
she was by their admonitions and intimidations.
It is not in your power to force me to return.
Talk about finding your voice. I could use
an iota of her confidence. I’m mired in the muck,
as if your rib is still stuck to me. Lilith chooses.
She chose a cave over living like your slave.
Some, like me, have to stay even if it kills the soul.
You named me, like a child names a plaything.
Would I have chosen Eve? There’s no way to know.
Outside our tent, I listen to you lament, your cries
shriller than our son’s wails — your longing to return
to a place from which we are forever banished.
Luckily for Lilith, she had no appetite for apples.
Linda Laderman is a Michigan poet. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals, including The Burningword Literary Journal, MER, SWWIM, ONE ART, Rust & Moth, Minyan, and Action-Spectacle. She is a past recipient of Harbor Review’s Jewish Women’s Prize and was a Pushcart nominee. Her micro-chapbook, What I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know, can be found at www.harbor-review.com/what-i-didnt-know-i-didnt-know.
