A snake removes its skin
and sheds what little innocence
we might have given credence to.

It’s all a matter of your
perspective. For example:
the moment before and after

the Fall. Complexities
multiply. A multitude
of rehashed interpretations.

Venerated veritas:
the truth shall set me free.
At last. At least

I wish I could suspend —
put an end to —
disbelief. Tempered
apprehension: so hard to come by.

Disregarding the stiffness
in my back, I straighten.
Thus uncoiled, I continue to stare

at the painting, hanging in front of
where I stand. By now,
I could tell you everything

there is to know about this
work of art with my eyes shut.
Retinal sketches.

Two figures: man and woman.
A tree. Red apple. Not to forget
that aforementioned ophidian: its eyes glare

back at me. And I, numb,
remain still, reciprocating
in turn. There is no recourse other
than keeping my end of the bargain.

April 4, 2024

About the writer

Philip Miller is a previously unpublished poet. He is Senior Lecturer and Chairperson of the Department of Music Theory & Composition at the Ingesund School of Music, Karlstad University in Sweden.