After Katana Smith
A fig tree grows on our boulevard;
between the sidewalk and street;
fifteen feet tall; one root pushes up
a slab of concrete; probes for
nutrition in the sewer pipe below;
hundreds of figs droop like testicles
beneath their branches; leaves
worthy of a Greek statue; the tree
feels #noshame; over-ripe fruit
squishes through my fingers;
like the entrails of a gutted grouse;
I reach deeper for hidden jewels;
sweet, soft, seedy; I snack as I pick;
jam drools from my gob; like Gerber
between a baby’s lips; tree limbs
scratch my bare arms; I break out
in a rash and itch; a memento of
my original sin; I feel #noshame.
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Steve Hindmarch was born in London, Ontario. He has worked in the investment industry throughout his career, in Canada, the U.K., and the U.S. and, along with his wife Monica, raised three children in New York. He has lived in Seattle since 2019, where he’s taken poetry workshops through Hugo House. He also plays guitar.
