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.

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