poem
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On Blake’s Painting of Jesus and the Woman Taken in Adultery
The scene, as Blake
portrays it, is perfect:
the accusers departing
discomfited, the woman
lissome, bare-breasted
her hair dishevelled
her face, slightly flushed,
resembling Jesus’
as a sister her brother.
But what is Jesus drawing
as he bends toward the ground?
His right hand forms a compass
like Newton’s or that
of the Ancient of Days.
Is he having a private
joke—perhaps mocking
the Old Man’s creation
of forked Adam,
cleft Eve?
The woman stands straight—
her wrists bound behind her—
with her head slightly bowed
her gaze intent
on the doodler’s hand.
She knows there remain only
herself and this
ironic jester—
no more fucking sin.