on learning your body is a fig tree

the first time you wrap your
breasts you understand fig 
trees in winter. 
in the north east 
they grow like permanent immigrants--
a constant process of waiting-- 
passports in their pocket-books & 
they trim their finger nails
in the sink & think to themselves
how their body comes so easily apart
like the lobes of a clementine
or the unfurling of the moon
as it's whittled down by 
a dull-knifed god who whistles 
in apple seeds until there
is nothing left of it in the sky--
a dark night of star fragments &
cloud--
all of the lunar body 
sold away to keep his dandelion
promises 
& all there is left to do is wait
with your  
roots balled in the
back of a garage-- 
remaining
there till the windows clear 
of frost--
you grow figs on the inside of
your body-- plump & 
glistening like sugar stones--
you slice them off with 
a paring knife & crouch naked 
on your knees to see what the inside
looks like 
a fist of syrup dripping
between your fingers--
you say 
"this. this is my body"
wrapped tight & you 
spend the rest of the day
picking the fig fruit
from inside yourself-- filling
cardboard pints & giving
them away 
to let strangers 
eat them & tell you that
they taste strangely melancholy--
like stale gummy worms or 
over-ripe peaches--
brown & drunk with sun--
so i wrap myself up tighter
again & wait for april to
come with the fruits again--
faint & green protruding
from my chest-- i prune myself
in the bathroom mirror &
branches collect on the tile floor--
leaves clog the drain &
i stand impossibly ripe
in the shower trying
to stop my body's shape from
blushing hot in the sun--
i'm starting with a paring knife
across my shadow-- 
one fig at a time & then
wrapping myself up tight again--
i pray to stop growing like this &
i watch god replace the moon
with a heads-down penny 
from his breast- pocket-- 
he promises
tomorrow night he'll flip it
& we can make bets about
the color of the apples this year. 
being trans means owning
a body like a fig tree-- 
a clogged
drain full of leaves &
an obsession with watching
how gracefully the moon can change
her shape without thinking--