Fruit

The curious cluster
hangs from her fingers
Wisdom, having mixed
her seven bowls
sets aside her work
Finally, the figs are ripe

We have together eaten
bread at midnight
broken through a month of raisins
beat hunger out of our brains
through a brave few seasons
Drunkenness made way for treason
Faithlessness, for reason

We have forever taken
fruit from trees¹

The apples, having fallen,
rolling
Your limbs, your branches,
rising to their heights
Your daughters, sons are
growing
Your child’s children, your delight

Your food is light and steady,
glowing
Every word is ready,
blowing bright

You set aside your cloak
You set aside your staff
You set aside your bag
You set aside your work,
finally

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1. I owe a debt of inspiration, and possibly a close variation
of this phrase, to the Bible Project. If I find the podcast
episode, I’ll cite it here.