What He Said Was, Your Body Is a Lemon.

by Dana Lichty

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.

Dana Lichty wrote thousands of proposals, reports, and letters during her 35-year fundraising career in New York City’s nonprofit community. She never wrote poetry before moving to Asheville in 2011. Now it is her passion. The Great Smokies Writing Program is where she got her start.