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by Sylvia Adams


Lilith, slender and long-stemmed, tuned out
when the angels wept;
I'm not afraid of darkness was all she said.
She was thinking of candlelit dinners
in cave-dim restaurants
where steak was served on a board
and the whole wheat loaves came straight
from oven to table.
Knives were sharp, but they had to be.
She walked through unlit parks and was never molested.
The Prince of Darkness was holding her hand.
She could trust him and needed no
one else.
                                  Afterward said, I went willingly - loved
every minute of it. See - the jewels
he gave me. My licence to live forever. Who could ask
for more? And she holds out
her shrivelled hand,
                                            diamonds sliding on bone

* * *

Sylvia Adams is a writing instructor, editor, book reviewer, and the author of a novel, two poetry collections and a children's book. Her work appears in journals and anthologies across North America. A founding member of Canada's Field Stone Poets, she has 12 poems in their 2011 travel collection, Whistle for Jellyfish [BookLand Press, Toronto].

Where do you get the ideas for your poems?

Ideas? I don't get them: they get me. Writing 'got' me when I was nine years old. I'm still saying, "When I grow up I'm going to be a writer."

What inspires you to write and keep writing?

Easier to say what it isn't. It isn't the ability to make a living at it.