this is where we'll plant a fig tree

i want to be the alley
that you whisper down--
trace my spine with your
feet as you walk down
the gravel road
full of cantaloupe rinds--
this is where we'll plant
the fig tree--
between the gnashing fangs
of my ribs--
take a handful of
seeds & swallow--
i want to press your thumb
into the warm soil 
of my bones
i was the copperhead &
your were the apple--
only i was the one with
the stem--
i want to be twisted
& plucked--
i want to catch your
whispers & put them
into jars to keep in
the cupboard for
when i'm lonely & 
we've long stopped being
lovers--
i'll crawl inside 
the cabinets & open
each mason jar
to hear you breathe again--
your mouth drinks oceans 
& beneath your tongue
you keep the 
Eucharist wafer moon--
this is my body--
do this in memory of
me--
get on your knees longer after
you've left me &
check to see if the rivers 
are still running
with wine--
drink with your hands
& remember the fig tree--
remember to wrap it 
in the winter & put it in
the garage on
the cold cement floor
so that the frost
won't steal the leaves--
remember to pick the fruit
when they're bruised 
& plump as the fist 
marks on my thighs
from when the sky turned
into a barrel of
stone--
what do you know 
of the old gravel road
from which i took my spine?
what do you know
of mouths & all that
we keep behind them?
could you kiss
me long enough
to hear me whisper?
what kinds of stories
do you ribs tell when
you strum them like
out-of-tune 
ukulele strings--
use the fret board of
my wrists--
there weren't enough days to
love you on--
& each sun waited too
long to wrap herself in
blankets--
there weren't enough rocks
in the river to 
smooth us into skipping
stones--
i'll skip three times
before i sink--
grip me between your
index finger & your thumb--
the next time you 
hold a pebble pretend for
me that it is a peach pit--
go out into your back yard
where we kissed too many times
& not enough- &
press your thumb into the soil--
& you know it will never be
a peach tree
but we can pretend & 
when the moon break free from beneath
your tongue there will
grow the fig tree again--
bursting out of the garage 
& sinking her roots
back in through the bottoms
of our feet--
our bodies were never meant
to forget 
the trees we planted--
when did i become
the copperhead?
when did you fall heavy 
as an apple?
hold still--
i want to fill
this jar with your
smile-- 
i don't want to forget
what you
looked like when you
loved me & the 
moon was thin
enough to melt under
our tongues