Poetry – Issue 3 | February 2009
Two Poems by Laurie Byro
Cain's Wife Writes from Nod
It was at that moment I stopped listening
to the gurgling river of blood that lay beneath
my feet and settled on the one who was left.
No one speaks about how unruly Eden had become.
The tangled pile of serpents dozing logy in the sun,
the sated pairs of insects making more insects.
You may think of this as paradise: ecotourism,
a cottage industry, his and hers woven placemats,
but the drone and whirr of birds, of bees,
grasshoppers, tree frogs My God—hummingbirds.
Eden was one big cacophony of rose of Sharon. We left
since Nod has better schools for the children. My son is ten
now and I’m expecting again, hoping for a brother
for little Nochie. Although, I wouldn’t ask him
to watch the dog. He’s just like his father, likes to putter
in the garden, at five years old he could tell the difference
between a weed and a bean sprout. He doesn’t have many
friends though except that weird kid Kyle who is into that
animal sacrificing that’s so popular now. I don’t mind
kicking in the occasional goat. Boys will be boys. I only wish
he’d stop writing to his Uncle Seth asking if he can move
in after the baby is born. How will it look to the neighbors
if Enoch doesn’t stick around long enough to watch the baby?
I want him to be best friends with little Sarah or little Seth.
The same way my dearest was with his brothers.
About the author
Laurie Byro’s short stories and poetry draw on myth, fairytale and her experiences of foreign places in the years she worked as a travel agent. Published widely in literary journals such as Autumn Sky Poetry, Loch Raven Review, and Stirring, her work has been featured on The Guardian’s online workshop and has placed favorably in the Interboard Poetry Competitions. Laurie is head of circulation at a library in New Jersey where she facilitates a poetry circle.
Next in Poetry: A Toast to Making Nearly Nothing
Previously in Poetry: Two poems by Sarah J. Sloat
