The Rib —a fractured fairytale

Adam and Eve Claude-Marie Dubufe, 1827

I always thought that Eve got a raw deal in the Judaeo-Christian creation myth. She makes one misstep and is punished unduly with menstrual cramps and the pain of childbirth. Sucks, right?

But in retrospect, someone else may have suffered unduly from the start. Before the snake and the apple make their way into the story, did Adam have agency in any of his actions or decisions?

I don't think so.

What if Eden was less a garden of earthly delights and more a pen where God kept his tortured playthings under force? When I started questioning certain premises in this tale that serves as the foundation for much of modern western culture, I didn't like what I found. In a certain slant of light, the God in this story strikes me as an abusive, negligent parent. Like the kind of entity who shouldn't be allowed to adopt a pet from the SPCA, never mind design all life on earth.

It makes me feel sorry for Adam, Eve, and all of us, really.

I wrote a poem re-framing this myth. The Rat's Ass Review recently published it in their Love & Ensuing Madness series which features "poems from all points of view on the broad topic of love." My poem is entitled The Rib—a fractured fairytale, and you can read it here.

Enjoy It While It Lasts

My son's class took a field trip last week. Not to the zoo, pumpkin patch, apple u-pick farm, or famous waterfall. To a park, just a short walk away. I joined in the fun, because autumn field trips happen quickly. Blink and you'll miss the sign-up list, and before you know it, it's winter and the only field trips offered are trips to the insides of places. Like museums, or puppet theaters. Which are all fine, don't get me wrong, but they're not out of doors.

We had a picnic. Some kids opted to roll down hills afterwards. I skipped out on that, preferring to keep my lunch down, but I loved watching them race around and hide in the rhododendrons.

After identifying five kinds of trees in the park, the real fun began. They scavenged for interesting leaves and fallen petals that pleased them. Then they got creative.

Just boys futzing around with leaves, right? Well, not really...

A pineconed, petaled offering.

Have you ever heard of Andy Goldsworthy? Have you ever seen his site-specific nature art? These kids have. Their teachers told them to use what was around them to create something beautiful, using no tools but their hands, heads and hearts. The results? Art installation on an autumn hillside in a city park, for passersby to enjoy.

A bed for a wood sprite.

Treasure it now. It is here and now.

Harlequin berry delight.

It is conceived of and crafted by our children.

Kids put bits of themselves in everything they make and do.

This is what they see in the leaves and the grass around us. Do you see their offerings?

 It will all blow away soon, and winter will come.

Enjoy it while it lasts. Find your own leaves. Make art to share. But be sure and look around for it. Blink and you'll miss it. The winds are coming.