..... poetry .....



"When Figs Finally Arrive"

They appear with little warning.
Their splendor, breathtaking,
   yet, still wholesome.

Dark (yes), knowing (yes), wanting (yes),
   figs have been the unwitting currency for 
      seduction and betrayal,
      dispute and forgiveness,
      pride and disgrace.

How I wish that the first arrival of figs could be transported
   to your eyes.
That their eloquence could be transmuted,
   by mere thought,
   into your heart.
That their wetness could coat your throat
   with a vast simplicity.

So why can't figs turn back time,
   undo one's hardwiring,
   and cast open a door that’s been welded shut ? 
How I wish they could.

They only watch, 
   and hope that Love will call them into service.


June 2014






©2016, Michael Smolens