Knox Tree of Knowledge
I remember learning the story of Adam and Eve
in Sunday school with my mamaw when I was little
and being perplexed at why God would want
them to live without knowledge, as innocent children—
because I didn’t know the ways
that knowledge is sadness, it seemed cruel
to me to withhold it, like God was refusing
them ice cream or something.
I feel inundated with knowledge
today. Not like I ate of the fruit
of the Tree of Knowledge, more like
I sat down at the Shoney’s All-You-Can-Eat
Breakfast Buffet of Knowledge
and accidentally gorged myself to aching.
Somehow, my trying to kiss Sylvie is
not top of the list of what I’m ruminating on,
not after she drew back the curtain
and trusted me to be the first to see her life
in all of its sorrow and messiness. I don’t know
yet what that means but it must mean
something. There’s the second part of the story
of Adam and Eve. Where they eat the fruit.
And their eyes are opened. And they’re exiled
from the Garden and learn
of death and struggle and the myriad ways
that this world breaks our hearts
to make us wiser. And maybe
that’s what I’ve chosen for myself here,
or it’s been chosen for me,
but either way, the result is the same:
eating the fruit and having my eyes opened.
And here’s the thing with that:
now, just as when I was young, I can’t
imagine anyone wanting it
any other way. Give me the fruit.
Give me the knowledge.