Fig Trees

by Margery Hannah

I want to be the red dot beaming
on canvas bleached
The Son I am to ears
bright of faces without teeth
The Tupac of despair, the Pryor
of fears laughing
at tears dried by Martin’s dream

I want to be a cold kiwi in a
Summer desert

Falling from fig trees
Lazily, I want to be these
With the twist of a wrist I want to please
corrupt every learnt thing

Turn it into me
A denied beauty queen
flaming the world free

©Margery Hannah 2006-2021

Published by Margery Hannah

“A writer writes, aways.” (Larry Donner, Throw Mama from the Train) The musings of Margery Hannah on an array of subject matter through a literary lens. Every snowflake has a story.

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