Fall 2008, Volume 5

Poetry by Peggy Heinrich

Adam & Dawn

He pointed to himself. Adam.
Would he always want the first word?
She'd rather speak with the ones
in what she called water,
the ones she called fish.
At the sound of the voice of the one
who called himself Adam,
she stepped into a niche
in the tree she called apple.
Here he comes, she thought,
doing his foolish-Adam-shuffle.
Eve! Eve!
She stepped from the tree
and pointed to herself. Dawn.
, he repeated
and pointed to the ground.
I can build us... he paused ...a shelf...
from this tall green-at-the-top thing.
They lay on the shelf and performed
a new lie-down-sighing dance
that Adam named a virus and Dawn,
enjoying the last word, named The Inevitable.

BIO:  Peggy Heinrich's poetry has appeared in Texas Review, San Fernando Poetry Review, Negative Capability and many other small press magazines and in two collections: A Minefield of Etceteras and Sharing the Woods.
Forty-four Freckles, her children's story in rhyme, was published by Longmeadow Press. A Patch of Grass contained a sampling of her haiku as did Haiga-Haiku, an art-poetry book created by artist Barbara Gray. A native New Yorker, she recently resettled in Santa Cruz after many cold winters in Connecticut.