She remembers
a bird called out
two knowing notes –
Yes, No? Yes, No?

She remembers
the man’s one question.
Too late her answer –
the worm had turned.

She lay
beneath a conspiring tree.
Above her – hung
his reddened face.

She saw
a broken branch
thin bent limbs.
All around – flawless apples.

She rose
left her faint shape
pressed in the wet earth –
her fallen remains.

She does not
remember the man’s name.
Like a serpent –
I cast it out.

– Tricia Marcella Cimera