My "Making of Eve" contest entry

Trust (or: Making an Eve)

I could tear you open.
Sleep leaves you-—you’ve already left—
flat on your back, belly and neck,
the softest, barest parts

exposed. And you’d never know.
Diving deep—-you dove--to such depths
that like a pearl diver who holds
his breath, you cease

to breathe. I've witnessed
the stillness of your chest. I've counted
each second before you gasped again,
rising—-risen—-to the surface.

I've measured that silence
with my own breath, held. Every night,
a Lazarus stumbles from the tomb—-
fallen--falling over the miracle

of his own soles. I could cut
a slit with my nail, slip a finger
beneath your skin, extract a rib and make a real
woman from that calcium and marrow.

And you’d never know. You’d awaken
in the morning refreshed and go
about the business of living.
You’d never even miss that bone.