“…Through primrose promise, labor’s golden yoke.”

Marriage is, of course, the consolation prize to temper (and pathway to transcend) our first parent’s curse.

Comments

  1. Jonathan Webb says

    Adam would blow into town once a year with gifts and lots of stories. We’d all sit on his lap and laugh and shower him with kisses. Then he was gone the next day.

    Is it any wonder I’m so messed up.

  2. Meanwhile, Eve would stand at the stove in stolid desperation, stirring carrot soup in a stainless steel sauce pot, her back to the rest of us.

    We heard an occasional sound, something between a sob and the recitation of algorithms.

    Once Adam left, the silence he left in his wake was awkward and prolonged.

    We sat there, twiddling with our shoe laces and glancing up at St. Michael’s Sword, hanging above the mantlepiece, still smoking all these many years later…

    JOB

  3. Jonathan Webb says

    Is there a support group available?

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