A Poem for Returning Home

 

 

THE FIRST PILGRIMAGE
Lauren B. Davis

The fruit was not as sweet as I’d hoped.
You might call it tart.
But I loved the tree.
I loved the way the branches
twisted and reached out for light and life,
every limb an offering.

Who was I to say no?

Everyone blames the snake, but this is wrong.
Maybe that lie of mine
was the first sin.

Maybe if I’d simply said,
“Faced with the beauty
Of that glistening ruby, I forgot.
I just forgot.”

Maybe my forgetting
was the first sin.
But he forgot, too, that man of mine.

Still, no evil, just ignorance of consequence
and shame,
and guilt,
having known no such things.

We were so young.

But I was afraid. (Another sin?)
I said the snake made me do it.
Poor, puppy-faced, iridescent staff.
No wonder he’s afraid of me and wants to bite.
Who wouldn’t?

Apple juice stains.
Sweet and bitter both.

So, as ordered, the man and I left,
the snake slithering alongside us, newly dashed to his
soft and now-wounded belly,
his tongue flicking in frustration and fury.

We worked hard, tilling the dirt we were made of
(yes, both of us, made from soil).
And, from what was us — and all around us —
Sprang a seedling, a sapling,
then our tree.

From what made us, mud and water and light and love,
we knew would come sweet fruit.
An apple tree of our own.

And now we eat the fruit we hold in calloused hands,
Nails ragged, torn, and dirt-rimmed.
We find it sweet, at last.
And we don’t resent the work or loss.

Still, we remember, and we long for Home
(choice is such a complicated thing),
just as the One Who Ordered Us Away
longs for our return.

We will, one day. We have. We are.
Returned.

Image: “Helga in the Orchard” by Andrew Wyeth

 

4 Comments

  1. Lynda Benninger on August 17, 2024 at 10:32 am

    Such a beautiful poem Lauren. You captured so many emotions about life . I could not help but think of Sister Rita when I read it. Did you share your work with her? You must miss her terribly.

    • Lauren B. Davis on August 17, 2024 at 10:57 am

      Thanks, Lynda. Yes, Rita was familiar with my work. This poem came out of a discussion I had with a dear friend, Alfred Kessler, a writer and painter I knew in Paris. We talked about the Islamic concept of original sin and how, in the Qu’ran, it wasn’t a question of Eve’s temptation but rather that both Adam and Eve forgot their instructions from the Creator. He said he felt out inability to remember was perhaps at the root of all the world’s sin — every war, every cruelty, every stupidity. Always stayed with me.

      • Marcie McCauley on August 20, 2024 at 2:19 pm

        How thoughtful: I’m going to be thinking about that, now, too!
        So pleased to see your work here and to take a moment with a cup of coffee to enjoy this poem.

        • Lauren on August 20, 2024 at 6:34 pm

          Hello, Marcia! thanks for popping in. Lovely to hear from you. xo

Leave a Comment