For My Niblings in Anticipation of Their Birth

my brother, knowing my work well, asked i not

include any references to semen in the throat

in this poem i’m writing you—so i shant. instead:

semen in the books. semen in the leaves. semen

in the ground that grows the semen trees also

known as the callery pear. semen in the boat

that carried our family here. semen in the waters

where we left our dead. semen in the meadows

where we buried & bled. semen in the light

streaming through the stained glass of our synagogue,

the image depicting an ark in an ocean of semen.

gossamer semen. octopus semen. garden of semen.

there are so many words for you children &

none of them are dirty—tho not all of them

are yours. now as you eat what your mother eats

her fear is your world torn & thrown to birds.

but still the light is thick in the trees. the callery

pears are loud this season & my throat is bright

with flowers for you both. such beautiful flowers

i hardly have the words.