our family stock was uncommon common happiness, apples and oranges; you, a perfect fig.
when our restless boy brought you home, set you down at our rowdy table,
the air moved, like the universe exhaling. like, okay.
fact: a fig is not a fruit, but an inverted flower,
soft-skinned, a midnight purple teardrop.
that first night, eating burned homemade pizza,
we swiftly folded you in, our levity tinged with purpose,
like we’d shared a bleak vision of our lives absent figs, or joy,
or an abundance of you.
Thank you for the gift of your amazing Jillian, Aly. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. XO
Well that made me 🥲🥰