Cluster Fig
Leaning out over
a lantana bush
abloom with polybags,
yellow and pink,
and a woman
gathering firewood
beside a sluggish gutter
while her twitchy goats
go looking for
a patch to graze on,
is the big cluster fig,
its giant’s foot, its
buttress roots, caught
in the rusted door
of the garden shed.
How it came to be there
no one knows.
Growing faster
than a beanstalk,
it’s become a high-rise
for birds. Pariah kites
and crows are heard
in its windows,
singing, screeching,
cawing, as if newly
in love, survivors of
the human disaster.
Source: Poetry (July/August 2019)