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- the rot is 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.

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June and a tangerine

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White wine