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  • Abigail Tavera

Afraid of Becoming Eve

I hear the tree

It’s whispering,

“Pick me, Pick me…”

But the Apple is not pretty;

It is vile.

I walk away---

Afraid of the tree

That is now screaming---

I want nothing to do with that Black Apple,

Though others might.

I just want to spend time in the flowers,

Flitting about,

Taking in the sweet scent

Of the daisies and daffodils,

Who sing instead of scream---

But the Black Apple tree only barks louder.

I scamper farther away...

I think,

I don’t even like Apples,

Why must the tree yell so loud?

Yet the tree only releases

A more deafening roar---

And suddenly, before me,

Is another Black Apple tree.

I scream,

The Apple cackles,

And a python unfurls from the tree.

The Snake will trap me, I think.

I sprint faster,

Breathe harder,

And bound over rocks and stone.

That Black Apple won’t catch me!

But when my breathing becomes labored,

I stop and look down---

I realize

I have trampled the daisies

And the black apple tree

Was only part of a mere Dream.


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