Independence

Early summer: such signs of labor
meaning the cycles begin again--
 
the earnest attempt to beat back 
all sudden proliferation of green 

bladed things. A woman breaks off
a sprig of confederate jasmine 

and offers it to me: as if I need
more evidence the girl is back, back

from her tenure in the depths. We tie
a bandana around the bottom of our faces

and watch as trucks drive around 
the block, spraying chemicals for 

mosquitoes. In the canopy of the fig 
whose limbs we trimmed in spring, 

I stretch a hand up to feel for nubs
that will still grow heavy with sugar.