Eve, Underwater By Maria Llona Garcia

Eve, Underwater

I was old enough,
and large enough,
that the suds
no longer covered
the tops of my knees,
which rose like islands
above the bathwater.

Then my father came
into the bathroom and
in the name of art
took pictures of me
on a small white camera
I have yet to forget
and I felt myself snap.

I was young enough,
that I hadn’t yet
understood what skin
meant, or what
shame was or
that my body could talk and
tell me to cover up.

I learned about
the Fall of Man
when I first saw
my body through
another’s eyes,
trapped in that small
screen and only partly
covered by dirty
bath water, and felt
that I was dirty, too.

By Maria Llona Garcia


Maria Llona Garcia is a 24 year old Peruvian poet and occasional prose writer. She recently graduated with a degree in English from Skidmore College, where she was awarded their section of the Academy of American Poets Prize. She currently lives in her hometown of Lima, Peru and teaches English while also working as a newsletter editor. This fall she will begin studying for an MFA in Poetry at The New School.

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