The Old Fig Tree Poem by Fatima Nusairat

The Old Fig Tree

I only sang to the old fig tree
As it trembled under the wind
I promised you since you left
I'll drink grief enough for both of us
I'll open like the gulls
My wings on the horizon
And under the November sun
I'll wade into a cold Natifah's brook
Inviting your friends who accompanied you in the war
To our old home
Sitting next to our old fireplace
Talking about our homeland,
How the men descended
Two, three and four toward their death

Talking about storms that flooded homes
About horses that plunged into rivers
So that shadows became frightened in their land
Talking about one who
Still kindles the wet firewood
And how the rooms are filled with soot
After the flames stopped

Talking about what they did
What they couldn't do
About your heart hungering for holiness
How you passed death twice
Thus death returned defeated
Once you made from it, a home, a door and a lock.

We'll talk about all of this
Until the wind shakes and the fire is extinguished
Then I'll recall in my mind
How everything around me was just empty seats
Ah how bitter you are
O Wind!
When you took all the warmth
All the love in my heart.