A Poem of Tu B'Shvat

For David

This winter, thinking of trees,
I ate a fig.
I savored its sweetness,
Its skin and seeds
Both crunched in my teeth.

In my gut, a seed sprouted.
I was uncomfortable at first,
Wished to shed its roots and sprigs.
I visited old friends,
Tried to talk it from inside.

But then I realized
Its roots are my veins,
Its shoots, my nerves.
Without it, I am less.
My fig tree makes me whole.