When he saw me eating the apple, his mouth hardened, as if carved in stone.
It was a lot of fuss to make over fruit, but I crawled back. He leaned on the locked garden gate and said I must earn forgiveness.
Later, he made more rules. Dress modest. Don’t question.
Between tantrums he was sweet, all manna and rainbows.
Once he burned two cities to prove a point. I told myself he knew best.
What he did to the Galilean girl, I couldn’t forgive. She was just a kid.
He promised me heaven. It feels more like hell.