In Jake’s Bed

I wanted to ask my rabbi
if there was dope
in the Garden of Eden.
I wanted to ask
him if Adam and Eve
got high and laughed with each other
like children.

(I know in the deepest part
of my heart that there was
no dope in the Garden—
Adam and Eve were the epitome of innocence.
No matter which way you look
at it, you cannot justify
the idea of the first man
and woman
strung out and stoned.)

Perhaps the apple was its own form of dope,
Adam and Eve became inebriated on knowledge,
their bodies—God’s image—vandalized.
Or maybe there was dope in the garden,
and they just had the munchies.

My dad told me
that Torah study is not like school
because Torah study should last
a lifetime.
I am perpetually learning.
My rabbi doubts the moon landing, but
I am a believer.
It still hurts
that the astronauts
used me
as a launch pad, that
Adam smoked me like his first joint.
I have celestial burns on my thighs—
craters and other such skin.
I see God in every constellation.
I pray that someday my
body will be as clean
as a flower pressed between
the whisper-thin pages
of my Tanakh.

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