share


Fig-tree

He trepans with the blunt

screwdriver on his penknife:

unripe figs require the touch

of air on flesh to sweeten.

Blind, but in his fingertips

he has the whole knot

of this fig-tree memorised.

 

The five inch scar, a vague

felt mesh of parallelogram,

was where he bandaged up

a split branch once.

He starts from there,

first hand-height fruit

and then he gets the ladder.

 

Gauge weight, turn, unturn.

He sings beneath his breath

about the excellence of figs,

their mellowness,

their skin-dints

like the perfect undulation

in the small of his wife’s back.

 


ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR

was born in 1986. He is currently completing a PhD at Durham University. His poetry has featured in the Salt Book of Younger Poets and Best British Poetry 2012. His first collection, Antler, was published by Salt in 2012.

READ NEXT

Interview

May 2015

Interview with Catherine Lacey

Will Chancellor

Interview

May 2015

Catherine Lacey is a writer who came to New York by way of Tupelo, Mississippi. She is a New...

fiction

Issue No. 12

A Samurai Watches the Sun Rise in Acapulco

Álvaro Enrigue

TR. Rahul Bery

fiction

Issue No. 12

To Miquel   I possess my death. She is in my hands and within the spirals of my inner...

poetry

April 2014

Obsolescence

Joseph Mackertich

poetry

April 2014

A lot of people tell me my voice is similar to that of the actor Christopher Walken. I don’t...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required