Fig Tree

by A.M. Clarke

in summer
we sit in the branches

picking leaves
from the strands
of our hair
we break the stems
and touch
the bleeding tips
to our tongues

quietly
the fruit falls

aging in the soft
shoulder of the ground

flies gather
eating life
before the ending day

summer fails
gathers
and fails again

new grass
grows
crowded against
the wooden fence

my mother
kills the fig tree

branches fall
-old weight breaking
into waiting hands

the sun
warms
an empty space

morning begins
with the ache
of a new flower

shadows move
liquid beneath
the shifting leaves

sunlight through
green paper