Fig Leaves
by Bria Winfree
After Ruth Stone’s “Green Apples”
In October, they drug Heart Lake looking
for what, we were never told
but it’s safe to say they found trash
and a girl we didn’t know was missing.
The Feds came down our side of the valley
and left by winter
like the conservation corps—
gone before we knew their smell.
Fig leaves were found, the paper said,
in her cheeks and fists
like chaw or she wrestled Adam and Eve
and lost
like all of us had,
eons before.