"The Sin Sonnets (A Redouble)" by Amy Newman

Cain I didn’t bring the best fruit—that was clear, dragging my basket wildly on the dirt.

My brother’s eyes pure, empty of the hurt of envy’s prick I’d feel again. In fear, my arms outstretched to Him, for want of love I’d ask, human-thin voice above the bleats of animals half-snorting in the heat.

He knew my bleak insides that wished to shove Abel away.

He would know everything.

So why should he not eat my lemons bruised?

So why should he berate my bitter hate?

My heart is traced to the abandoning of Eden for this place He’s made, confused as fathers are, and I recriminate.