The price for knowing God, is an apple,
she said with a line drawn by her foot,
over which she dared anyone to cross.
In the halls of distracted men, she raised
her voice, learned to pose as if her toes
were inches from a stream.
For which should we care first,
our bodies or our souls, she’d ask the ladies
in the vestibule, making coffee, cutting cake,
teaching children to say Raphael, just in case.
It seems we quit after landing on the moon,
she mused, exploring her closets, drawers,
and chests, grabbing her purse and keys.
What a day, she thought, walking into Macy’s