Adam in the Garden

"Adam in the Garden, hi-din,
Hi-din, hi-din;
Adam in the Garden, hi-din,
Hi-din from da Lord"

...

II
My earliest memory: the presence in 1984
of a uniformed rider on a burnished brown horse,
that shut every louvred window, closed each rangehouse door

in Tucville Terrace – a host of GDF soldiers, his retinue (then,
even the hawk-defying kiskadee ceased its ceaseless curse)
– felt like the face of God moving through the Garden

City. That day, in my parents' room, the air –
ravished by the knowledge of what our house held hidden –
grew heavy, pregnant with a foetal fear.

Curious child, I climbed atop sacks of contraband
flour and scaled stacked crates of the forbidden
fruit (apples), peeped through a broken louvre and

caught a glimpse of shining brown flank, a regal swish
of tail, a fleeting sight of our proud equestrian
God – although in the next second simply vanish-

ing, these things, to a boy just four years then,
were like the prowling essence of a caged jaguar – a man
whose presence was like God moving through his Eden.

III
Our house, dilating, released its gestated gloom
one full hour after the thud and crunch of hooves had pounded
away; in the cool, dark silence under the bed in my room,

like a hoof's harsh condemnation on gravel – in a boy's young ear –
each corrupting crunch of a stolen apple resounded.
My first knowledge of Good and Evil, and Fear

rode in on the shimmering wake of that unbridled power.
In 1985, just one year later, our

God was dead.

(From "Adam in the Garden")