FIG WASPS

The female wasp
gropes in the fruit
through a gap so
narrow she must
lose her wings—
trapped, she lays
her eggs and then
the larvae are dis-
gorged from galls
that scar.
A globe
of sap and syrup fat-
tens in a de trop fig
-ure: drooping lobe,
the seed-sack called
by scientists the syc
-onium (otherwise
known as an invert
flower) flush with
flavor, pink patch
-work vortex: vex-
ed pouch of pap
is all the male will
ever know, who
lifelong stays little
more than a blind
and wingless sex
drone.
The male
larvae seek mates
before the female
larvae even hatch.
He digs a tunnel
through the flesh
so females can fly
off to pollinate.
The fruit digests
each wasp, each
wispy shell. This
meaty ooze feeds
each fig’s leaf,
sprig,
phloem, juice, and
sweets. I gulp, I glut
that snack
and sneak
its mass of plush, raw
guts. Let slush drip
slick a-down my chin.
Lick gushing pulp;
rough sass and grit.
Slurp seed and skin.