By Sherilyn Stevenson

Yessssssssss, he celebrates while juice drips from fruit as if from his fangs and Mother Eve through The Fall groans, releasing at once all her children— bare and bawling and born to a place smoldering (forked-tongued-tempter stoking the coals) for a chance to rise from imminent ashes, each of us a green seedling springing from …

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