It's a poem called "The Firstborn."
There are all kinds of versions of the fall of man,
of Adam and Eve and leaving the garden.
And among them is the notion that Eve
was the one who ate the apple and that Adam loved Eve.
And wasn't particularly interested in the apple,
but was thoroughly aware of the fact
that Eve, having eaten the apple,
was going to be cut off from him if he didn't go ahead and eat,
himself, and that he faked it.
That he ate-- that he took the apple
but not to gain knowledge, but to stay with Eve.
I saw a joke in The New Yorker recently.
I think it was in The New Yorker where
it's the picture, of course, of Adam and Eve sitting there
in the garden and she's handing him the apple and saying,
but it's organic, Adam.
[LAUGHTER]
"Our first child was early.
Easy, they told her.
And telling me, she smiled, pretended to smile.
The pillowcase was white.
The sheet's stain was hidden.
Her face familiar, strange.
And full of guilt beyond a delivery.
I felt as strange as Adam joining Eve,
feigning pride while I brought her a rose bright as blood."