by Morrow Dowdle

---

There is another story behind the tree,
a second fruit eaten at the snake’s behest.

First there was the apple, pink and sweet,
yielding to my perfect teeth. I was naked

and free! And then the red pomegranate,
more difficult to access, but I did, forced it

open in my two fists, its blood covering
my slender fingers. I broke each aril

between my teeth, sucked it down to seed.
And each broke something inside of me.

I saw that my breasts were too small
and how my stomach bulged, my ass

a fat sack I dragged behind me.
No matter I had barely gone through

puberty, I found my nudity loveless,
something to detest. I didn’t need

another body for comparison
to know I was a one out of ten.

I might have been original,
but I was not fresh, my flesh

was trash, a sentiment I could not tame,
and I knew it when I next had sex, how

the man closed his eyes, kept his body
away from mine except the necessary bits,

how he shuddered when he came.
What I had seen, I could not unsee.

Paradise lost, I went into the desert.
The desert was inside of me.

---

Morrow Dowdle is the author of the chapbook Hardly (Bottlecap Press, 2024), the forthcoming chapbook Missing Woman (Charlotte Lit Press, 2006), and the forthcoming full-length collection Heartsick Requiem (Riot in Your Throat Press, 2026). They are a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, and their work has been featured in journals such as Rattle, New York Quarterly, Southeast Review, Stonecoast Review, ONE ART, and others. A former physician assistant, they now work for NC Public Art and run a performance series featuring historically marginalized voices. They are pursuing their MFA at Spalding University and live in Durham, NC.