After the garden

The worst part was the cold; no,
the worst was the stones beneath our feet,
the way the world hurt us constantly,
sunburn, wind, the sting of rain.
The worst was the loneliness.

The worst was meat. The fawn caught in the branches
by the river, the mud, the look
on Adam's face. What are you doing,
I asked, and he said, we are hungry.
The rock, falling, the spray of blood.
The sound it made. The worst was
that I ate.

Later, Cain, with that look on his face,
and I knew. I knew.