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.