Where babies come from by Sarah Yi-Mei Tsiang

Don’t you know where babies come from?
Asks the man who learns I’m expecting my third.

I don’t. I don’t know where babies come from
I don’t know where this chocolate in my hand

came from. What little fingers plucked the bean?
What tree was cut to unblock the sun for my sweet?

I don’t know what fire’s ash I’m breathing,
I don’t know if my body carries a virus

if I’ve killed the old lady next door by
bringing her bread with my bare hands.

I don’t know where this baby came from,
I don’t know how life could possibly

strain against my skin, turning
upside down, a faith in the closed dark

that there is a right way
to come out of this.

— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 3