In Sunday School I learned about the big red apple of original sin in the garden. How Adam and Eve ate thereof. Caste out. Ashamed. Hid from God. What I didn’t learn— it was really a fig. They ate a few. Clothed themselves in fig leaf. Hid from God. Caste out. Separated from God. How Jesus went to the fig tree for food and finding none, he said, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” Explanation mark. A curse that lifted a curse. And the tree withered and died.
When I got too haughty, my mother would say, “Who do you think you are? A Floradora girl?” I hardly knew the meaning of a Floradora girl but it was the tone of which she spoke it that made me pause my behavior. I knew she had a doll named Floradora. I didn’t know Floradora girls were also beautiful women who danced in a chorus line in the musical of the same name. Perhaps her mother had said the same to her when she displayed an air of arrogance.
This is what happens when promises are made that cannot be delivered. I gave you weapons. I gave you training. I gave you a plan of governance. I never gave you peace and stability in your own country. I put your sons and daughters on a plane as refugees. Your wife went too and now in desperation you cling to the fuselage.
NaPoWriMo prompt on letter to a favorite historical figure and response by that person. One of my favorite poets. I visited his house and Tor House in Carmel one day while road tripping. Original take on this experience written in 2016.