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Adam lights a cigarette and doubts God’s existence for the first time
by Julia McMullen
If he was formed from dust,
why didn’t he scatter like ash?
His thumb slips on the lighter, then
grips it tighter. His skin glows red
for an instant, then red embers flicker
at the end of his cigarette.
He remembers the angel, sword in hand,
heat like he’d never felt before, the taste
of forbidden fruit still on his lips.
He wields the cigarette with his lips and tongue,
a serpent with a taste for smoke. His lungs
scream to feel God’s breath again,
yet Adam leans against that dusty building
puffing away and wondering
if it had all just been a dream.
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