Figs
written by: Christian Ward
The fallen figs on the path
are shrunken cellos. I’m tempted
to split one open and listen
to its music. That might outdo
the birds making radios of
the nearby shrubs and bushes;
might wake the rising shoots.
I hold a fig in my palm and think
of every note, taking me back
to its Mediterranean coast
with cypress and olive trees
taking in the music of the sea.
I want the music of here,
I say, and fling it away.
Christian Ward
Christian Ward is a UK based writer who has been extensively published online and in print.
Latest posts by Christian Ward (see all)
- Trophy Husband - August 17, 2021
- Figs - May 3, 2021
- Burying Sister Mary - February 16, 2021
