I Eat Poetry

Summer, At Home

The goats were still
until dark.
The sheep stood
in the strip of shade
by the wall.
The figs hung, full
and weighty.
After they dropped,
flourescent insects covered
their pink insides.
When we hated each other enough,
we wrestled on the lawn.
The grass made our skin itch.
That night, I wanted you
the way I wanted you.
I sat at the table eating
one fig after another,
asking you, come here,
if you love me, get sick
on these with me.

-Mary Clark, from I Feel A Little Jumpy Around You