And they were sweet, their seeds popping in my mouth,
tiny Vesuvian eruptions, and I ate them until one was left
in a Etruscan bowl of sex positions, and it rolled around
and around, in orbit of an empty center, until I lifted
it to my lips—oh tear-drop fruit!—bared my teeth,
pierced skin and flesh—
Cover Page Footnote
"The Call at Night When I Was Dreaming of Figs" was originally published at Booth.
"The Call at Night When I Was Dreaming of Figs,"
Booth: Vol. 6
, Article 3.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol6/iss3/3