The Garden After the Fall by Floyd Cheung

Eating the fruit flipped a switch

for Adam and Eve—

a bite and then eyes wide open.


Not so for Eden.  For a long while

edges stayed neat, shapes trim,

grass even, and bushes pruned.


But cherubim don’t wield loppers.


Clover blows small at first, green always;

smartweed’s pink blossoms charm;

vines, branches, roots

stretch where they may

breathing  felix culpa

under the light of the moon and all the sin-filled day.


Floyd Cheung was born in Hong Kong and raised in Las Vegas. He is author of the chapbook Jazz at Manzanar (Finishing Line Press, 2014). He teaches the fierce, thoughtful, and creative students of Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts.


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