Dr. Wolf peered into my empty womb
after the first miscarriage. What I heard
the charming native of Belfast say was
You don’t have to wait long to try again.
Overcome by my jealousy for all parents,
I saw him in Bloomingdale’s with his twin daughters.
Your body is a lemon, he said after three more appointments,
holding my hand. I heard I wish I could fix this.
My mother said I should make lemonade
with all those lemons. Dia duit, I barked back
in the only Irish I knew. God be with you.
Lemons were the fruit Dutch still life painters
loved to paint, peel in a curlicue. Said to be
medicinal—good for nausea and sea sickness.
From medieval times, exotic gifts worthy of royalty.
My body, gorgeous juicy lemon, fit for a king.