To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian

To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian

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  • Tumbling through the
  • city in my
  • mind without once
  • looking up
  • the racket in
  • the lugwork probably
  • rehearsing some
  • stupid thing I
  • said or did
  • some crime or
  • other the city they
  • say is a lonely
  • place until yes
  • the sound of sweeping
  • and a woman
  • yes with a
  • broom beneath
  • which you are now
  • too the canopy
  • of a fig its
  • arms pulling the
  • September sun to it
  • and she
  • has a hose too
  • and so works hard
  • rinsing and scrubbing
  • the walk
  • lest some poor sod
  • slip on the
  • silk of a fig
  • and break his hip
  • and not probably
  • reach over to gobble up
  • the perpetrator
  • the light catches
  • the veins in her hands
  • when I ask about
  • the tree they
  • flutter in the air and
  • she says take
  • as much as
  • you can
  • help me
  • so I load my
  • pockets and mouth
  • and she points
  • to the step-ladder against
  • the wall to
  • mean more but
  • I was without a
  • sack so my meager
  • plunder would have to
  • suffice and an old woman
  • whom gravity
  • was pulling into
  • the earth loosed one
  • from a low slung
  • branch and its eye
  • wept like hers
  • which she dabbed
  • with a kerchief as she
  • cleaved the fig with
  • what remained of her
  • teeth and soon there were
  • eight or nine
  • people gathered beneath
  • the tree looking into
  • it like a
  • constellation pointing
  • do you see it
  • and I am tall and so
  • good for these things
  • and a bald man even
  • told me so
  • when I grabbed three
  • or four for
  • him reaching into the
  • giddy throngs of
  • yellow-jackets sugar
  • stoned which he only
  • pointed to smiling and
  • rubbing his stomach
  • I mean he was really rubbing his stomach
  • like there was a baby
  • in there
  • it was hot his
  • head shone while he
  • offered recipes to the
  • group using words which
  • I couldn’t understand and besides
  • I was a little
  • tipsy on the dance
  • of the velvety heart rolling
  • in my mouth
  • pulling me down and
  • down into the
  • oldest countries of my
  • body where I ate my first fig
  • from the hand of a man who escaped his country
  • by swimming through the night
  • and maybe
  • never said more than
  • five words to me
  • at once but gave me
  • figs and a man on his way
  • to work hops twice
  • to reach at last his
  • fig which he smiles at and calls
  • baby, c’mere baby,
  • he says and blows a kiss
  • to the tree which everyone knows
  • cannot grow this far north
  • being Mediterranean
  • and favoring the rocky, sun-baked soils
  • of Jordan and Sicily
  • but no one told the fig tree
  • or the immigrants
  • there is a way
  • the fig tree grows
  • in groves it wants,
  • it seems, to hold us,
  • yes I am anthropomorphizing
  • goddammit I have twice
  • in the last thirty seconds
  • rubbed my sweaty
  • forearm into someone else’s
  • sweaty shoulder
  • gleeful eating out of each other’s hands
  • on Christian St.
  • in Philadelphia a city like most
  • which has murdered its own
  • people
  • this is true
  • we are feeding each other
  • from a tree
  • at the corner of Christian and 9th
  • strangers maybe
  • never again.
  • Copyright © 2013 by Ross Gay. Originally published in the May–June 2013 issue of American Poetry Review. Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database.

Ross Gay

https://poets.org/poem/fig-tree-9th-and-christian

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