Fig
It is not apricot season
In Tescos they are hard and bitter
Like the outline of your face when you lie
With your back to me.
You turned twenty and you wished for a bird
As you blew out the candles: cobwebs and
Little bits of ash parting from your lips,
Taking to the sky.
And I turned twenty and wished for wasps
To stop finding me sweet
And then I wished for wasps to
Never stop finding me sweet.
I just wish – Oh,
I don’t know what I wish for.
I wish for so many things so frequently that
They become nothing.
I am old and ageing everything
I touch- slick,
Sliding, spoiled-
Please: everything
Is changing
Too fast- this rot is a wildfire-
And I just need a minute to stop
And think like a child again:
When I was eight and I was alive:
When my branches were blushing
Fruit and brown feathers.
When I turn sixty that’s what I will pray for.