Dear Baby, Perhaps, Conceived
Jesse Curran
{from Issue #12.5}


Another new study posted on yet
another new web board. A mother’s
diet at the moment of conception
can be determining. So, in case
one day you wonder, two nights ago
was chick peas, tomatoes, Indian
spices. Last night, your father, my
love, cut the garlic scapes. I made
pesto with lemon juice. We ate it
with pasta and broccoli. Then
we made love with our garlic breath
and our sweat was sweetly allium.
My dear, let me tell you how happy
we are. You see, we want you. We
patiently wait to see when you’ll find us.
In the meantime, a banana, a handful
of almonds, the leeks pulled today
for tomorrow’s cold soup. Don’t forget
afternoon coffee with biscotti.
Let me tell how I love him. His walking
the earth. The dirt under his nails. His legs
like tree trunks. His ass, I tease, like
Adonis. The hundred fruit trees
he planted this spring. He plants them
for you. Yesterday, leaving the library
I browsed the new books, pulling
a name book. I open to witness
the first name of thousands. It was
the one we want for you. Leona,
Leonie. Tonight is June’s full moon.
The rose moon. The honeymoon.
The strawberry moon. With haze
and rain, there’s no pink to be seen.
My darling godfather, upstate
is in comfort care. My normal advice
is to breathe. With the tumor in his throat
and the trachea, those words seem all wrong.
Impossible. For the waxing full, thick mist.
For the waning, a thunderstorm, smell
of worms rising from damp earth.
The sweet humid rot, the fruit flies
swarming the compost. Know
you are wanted. That we want you.
Know we would give you
this mystery.

Jesse Curran‘s poetry and essays have been published in numerous journals including, The Emily Dickinson Journal, The Journal of Sustainability Education, Green Humanities, Blueline, The Fourth River, About Place Journal, Lime Hawk, Spillway, and The Common Ground Review. You can learn more about her work here: