Curing Infertility

We should go to the bedroom.
You and your wife
should lie on the bed.
I will close the door
and play classical music.
Lights out.
You mustn't touch each other
and you mustn't move.
I want you both to stare
at an imaginary dot
on the other side of the ceiling.
Look up. Look through it.

Meanwhile in another room,
I will wear canvas pants
with only a string holding them up.
I will touch my toes ten times.
I will slowly do stretches,
breathing and thinking
about my childhood:
riding bikes, eating dinner.
I will remember a song
that I sang in a school play.
I will know all of the words.

I want you both to be thinking
about food. You should
try to imagine every single
year of your life,
what you ate that year,
what it tasted like.
I want you to think
about the major food groups.
Imagine vegetables.
Imagine Neanderthals eating
the marrow of lion bones.
Think about
how lion marrow tastes.
Start imagining recipes that
use lion marrow, a lion tooth broth,
frozen marrow on a stick.

When I come back
I will turn off the music
and turn on the lights.
I will ask you to hold hands
with each other

and get very close.

I will say, "Remember being a kid?"
In unison you will say, "I too was young."
I will say, "Remember eating?"
You will say "I grew from nothing."
I will say, "Eating is like giving birth."
You will say, "I too was born."

I will touch you both on the feet.
You'll get up and we'll walk outside.
It will be a humid day in early May.

Outside I'll say, "I've loved you two
for a long time and I've been
waiting my whole life to say this..."

You will be surprised but
you will say, "We have waited too."
And I'll say, "Not anymore."

copyright 2003 Peter Davis
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