Fig Tree from Shelters Two by Jelena Ciric

There is no green growing
in my sunless yard.
Here the sea gives plenty
but the soil is hard.

Somewhere there’s a garden
where the future slows,
where a firefly hovers
and a fig tree grows.

Branches are like fingers
but roots are not like feet.
Tongue too far to water,
fruit too far to eat.

So I’m sorry sunshine
and I’m sorry soil,
but the tongue is severed
and the fruit is spoiled.

I won’t grow a fig tree.
Besides, I don’t know how.
No one ever taught me,
it’s probably too late now.

I don’t have a garden,
but is that my fault?
When I crossed the ocean
I fell in love with salt.

• Canadian
• Folk
• Serbian
• pop
• singer-songwriter
• Reykjavík