Sylvia’s Figs

Paralyzed under a bell jar

Flat on my back

Fresh tattoo scars on my arms

Starving, I

Reach toward the fig tree

Emptiness expanding me

Overripe fruit begins falling amidst

Stinging stares from society

Scarlet letters adorn my wings

Once I’ve gone feral

There’s no returning

To the whipped circus animal

The world wants me to be

At some point the chains of

Conformity were crushed with me

So now I’m free

Cocooning under a redwood tree

Unmoved by the heckling

I pick a fig

From the ground to eat

It’s not too late for

The earth to nourish me

I imagine all the living people

As if they’re from another time

Too naive to recognize

All this power of mine

I wouldn’t be the first female writer

To be taunted until I die

Fig juice dripping down my face

I stay alive another night

Waiting for my silk to break