The Wait
written by: Nichole Turnbloom
I watch the fig tree
bud, flower and bloom
in a terra cotta pot.
I watch the first fruit
from a pea to a gumball
to an infant’s fist
from chartreuse
to matte eggplant.
I watch for a slight bend
at the stem, for the skin
to swell and soften
like an indulged belly.
I dreamt of just that fig.
Of swimming in a ruby sea–
seeds in my hair
seeds in my teeth.
In the morning, I know
it is ready. I pour
water over Ceylon tea
watch blackened leaves
unfurl and float.
I open the door
and there in the terra
cotta pot, sat a plump
rust colored squirrel.
The fig gone. The
missing berries explained.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – The Last Fruit
Nichole Turnbloom is a poet, yoga therapist, amateur potter and workshop facilitator. She currently works for a nonprofit where she provides individual and small groups sessions to those affected by trauma and violence. She has an MFA in poetry and has completed additional training through the Institute for Poetic Medicine. You can read her work at Acumen 108, Westbrae Literary Group Issue 2, and online at various venues.
Latest posts by Nichole Turnblom (see all)
- The Wait - August 24, 2026
- Self Portrait - November 20, 2025
- Eye of The Needle - February 16, 2025
