Apple and Fig
©January 26th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Teeth sink into the white crispness
Of a bright, red, impatient fruit.
One bite, and gloomy thoughts
Of ill-health vanish, and tiredness
Dissolves in a delicious rush
Of pure apple-joy, as the juice
Lingers a moment, like a
Benediction upon the tongue.
I think of a fig, now, and smile.
Figs come from death and gluttony,
And yet, such dizzying delight
Lies in its fleshy pulp, such
Tiny, tiny seeds burst onto
The tongue like innocence
Scattered, like paradise lost!
Mostly, the apple calls to me.
But, sometimes, when the
Stars crowd the unblinking skies,
On a clear, unclouded night,
I hear the chorus of dying
Fig-wasps in another universe,
And a shudder passes through me
Like pollen through the folded
Flesh of a fig’s inflorescence.
Then, despite myself,
I think of a fig, and I shiver.
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