Fifteenth of Nisan

For nearly fifty years I was
Unfamiliar with fig trees
Had never seen one

When we bought a lot with
A fig I didn't know it and
Whatever it was seemed dead

I cut it to ground
Burning its branches with
All the winter refuse

But by summer solstice
Three stalks had sprouted
Unusual leaves unfurled

Curiosity and neglect
Granting just
Enough to grow

Late summer
Surprised by
Nubby sprouts

That ripened
By late September
Into mini-amphorae

Fleshy vessels filled
With sweet urgency
Ancient analogies

Now taller than I am
Harvests abounding
Filling the fridge

Added to salads with
Walnuts and goat cheese
Topping our ice cream

Even better just itself
Seconds separated
From the tree

Yet even now as
Daffodils fade and
Red buds explode

The fig tree is naked
Deeply dormant
Evidently dead

While deep within
Unseen but well-known
Richly inflorescent