Figs, a poem written by Christian Ward at
Gabriella Clare Marino



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.

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