A Few Figs

Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem "First Fig," from "A Few Figs from Thistles," is the famous "My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - It gives a lovely light!"
There are subtleties here beyond "burning the candle at both ends."
Yes, we know it will not last the night --- how can it when it is no doubt lying on its side in a puddle of wax?
I love that her reminder goes first to foes, then to friends. If it "gives a lovely light," it is no doubt shining in those enemies' eyes, temporarily blinding them.
The poem has an 'in your face' quality, and reminds me of the old adage to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
The reference in her book title is to Matthew 7:16 - "By their fruits you will know them. Do you gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles?"
She also wrote "Second Fig," a particularly short poem with another biblical reference, this time to the house built upon sand from Matthew 7:26, ten verses later: "And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand."
Millay's "Second Fig" says, "Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!" That's it, the entire poem.
Back to figs: A good fig isn't easy to find, nor is the first one of the season very good.
But oh, that first one ever. I hadn't tasted a fresh fig until my senior year of high school. Like most kids, I liked Fig Newtons but that was my only exposure to the fruit until we moved to Arizona.
A neighbor down the street had a fig tree in her front yard. She occasionally gave us a bag of them.
They were a revelation. I have craved them since, but seldom can I indulge.
They were everywhere in Sicily. The Italians in this country must have their figs, and have learned to grow them in more inclement climates by "laying them down" for the winter, heeling the small trees under a pile of soil and mulch. In the spring they are set upright again to fruit another season.
My sister brought a small package of figs from a Seattle produce market on a recent visit --- I never see them in the stores here. They were okay, but a little over the hill and watery.
Figs can be such a contrast. They can almost be leathery on the outside (particularly the dark ones) but still juicy and delectable inside. The stem end can be shriveled and they can still be delicious. Sometimes they look fine on the outside, but are dry and insipid inside.
The closest thing to a ripe fig I've come across lately is Guerlain's Aqua Allegoria Figue-Iris in a 5 ml decant from The Perfumed Court. When I wear it, I feel delicious. I am out of Figue-Iris for the moment, but when I wear it, it reminds me all day in subtle whiffs. If I am in a bad mood, I can't wear it -- it serves as a reminder of how happiness should feel. Perhaps I should think of a candle burning bravely at both ends, and wear it all the time.