Elisa Karbin

E l i s a  K a r b i n

On Genesis

It began with the softness

of Sarah to Abraham,

the coiled rose of Aviv blooming

across a small patch

of green in the desert; a small

gesture of intent to go forth,

to be fruitful.

So I began, with the softness

of linen, pressed to the back

of my mother’s legs, the small,

swooping curve of hip,

of my father whispering

Deb-Deb, Deb-Deb; her name

becoming verdant, my heartbeat.