In order to view this poem with the line breaks the author intended, we suggest reading it on a computer screen or in the landscape orientation on your phone or tablet.
The Last Ripe Fig
Katharyn Howd Machan
was waiting for me—I’m sure of it—
Skyros in September an island of pause
almost past hot summer’s gold,
almost listening for the last
call from hidden cicadas.
I ventured down Atsitsa slopes
as morning moved above the bay.
I wandered where the curving road
approached the bells of bleating goats.
And there, the tree, its gleaming leaves
protecting just one perfect fruit—
late to blossom, late to round
and ripen in long sunlight’s strength,
holding the branch (I swear it’s so!)
until I’d traveled far to find
the taste of why we are alone,
each of us, before we can love,
the sweetness of true solitude
warm and rich and whole.
—
Katharyn Howd Machan writes poetry and memoir on her Dragon Patio when weather allows and elsewhere when it doesn’t. As a professor in the Department of Writing at Ithaca College, she mentors students in fairy-tale-based creative writing courses. Her most recent publications are A Slow Bottle of Wine (The Comstock Writers, Inc., 2020) and Dark Side of the Spoon (The Moonstone Press, 2022). For spirit and body, she belly dances.
Know anyone who might appreciate reading Katharyn’s poem?
Why not share the link to this page?
Have you read these poems:
Plus ça Change, Plus C’est La Même Chose by Jeff Bernstein
Early Crocuses by Gary Harrison
Table of Contents