Original Sin

by Robin Knight
A hundred priests in black 
from neck to foot
eat apples. 

An orchard gone
in one syncopated bite. 
Some cast aside the cores. 

But where is She? Where is Eve? 

West fifteen hundred miles
the convent is a stone brown loaf 
baked into the Macedonian hillside. 

Within the dark crust, soft golden bread. 
Each particle of flour
a life leavened.
Robin Knight is a writer, real estate developer and hospice worker in Sussex, England. His teenager daughter’s friends think he looks like the rapper, Pitbull, which is actually quite useful. He has had poetry published in anthologies in the U.K. and features in the magazine Psychologies. He particularly enjoys reading Shann Ray, and is a bel canto baritone.

© 2016, Robin Knight