In Praise of the Humble Fig

Summer’s bounty.
The tree is small – kept small for ease of picking –
The leaves are large and biblical.
Fruit hanging like heavy teardrops,
Purplish-brown or is that brownish-purple?

Feel the fruit.
It must be soft, the skins sometimes split.
White, milky sap leaks from the stalk,
With poisonous connotations.
Sticky! A stickiness that only soap can remove.

Luscious fruit; the insides pink and juicy.
Tiny pips embedded in the flesh.
Six are ripe.
I eat them all, I eat everything,
Save for the sappy stalks.

Tomorrow there will be more.

Sue (Toasted Knees)

4 responses

  1. Sarah Joyce Bryant | Reply

    Your poem is so sensory. I love it. It is as if I am there with you eating those wonderful figs. Yummy!

  2. Wow! I agree with Sarah. I am envisioning the fig tree that once grew in my grandfather’s backyard.

  3. What utter bounty Sue. Your work is pleasingly sensual. Figs have never been a favorite of mine but I appreciate their ancient history.

  4. Dont you love poems you can eat!

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