A clear sense of connectedness
between the dried fig in my mouth,
a fragrant, summer-laden tree
and somebody's outreaching hand
that plucked this fruit, not knowing
it would soon become a gift to me.
Does a fruit have any sense
of its ethnicity? How can the label,
"Turkish figs", be of any consequence?
A tree, presumably, is sensitive to provenance -
drawing sustenance from local specificities,
while I who consume its fruit,
whose palate lacks such subtleties,
cannot differentiate between Smyrna and Trebizon,
but improvise upon a phrase convenient
for packaging: "Turkish figs" - two words
that hoard the sweetness of a summer gone.
Turkish Figs
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105042600270
Свидетельство о публикации №105042600270
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