Jessica Stokes

7:52 A.M. IN FAIRBORN, OHIO

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gold leaf flaking into frosted flakes
revealing grayblack metal beneath
the ornate       like the column half
greco roman half iron cross beam
displayed by the college for the arts
signifying something too blunt to be
understood. wasn’t the cross made of wood?

breakfast cereal and a sinful child
a table sculpted in gold relief
not relieving any concerns
of andrew simon or soggy milk
grandma purchased a red twirly dress
to lure her to church in her sunday best
grandpa counting the sequins on her sash

trying to keep track: were there thirty?
she spun too fast for him to tally
was hers the dance of seven veils?
her legs were too thin her feet too curled
did blame rest in his genes or her heart?
the pastor’s water could provide a cure
while leaving his questions without answers

a congregation of healing hands
concealing the child’s unpolished feet
carpenter composed of iron
varnished cross looking down on aging
bodies curving in tan suits and ties
pastor slides his fingers on a gilt page
unknowingly wearing it back to plain

she takes off their hands and their red dress
dancing and limping in stained lightness
she will suffer in sulfur lakes
said someone shaking his hat and tie
she’ll face first and second death       so she
asked if they were naked in the garden
or if they were born in their sunday best

* * *

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GERIATRIC MANUAL*

bath tub once
an escape the size of a small swimming hole
with age has become as confined
as the eyes inside her porcelain doll
limbs bend
over themselves
to stuff within
its boundaries
floundering he tries
to keep her purple
fiberglass and polyester concoction
out of water in accordance with doctors orders

depending on
      how impersonal
      he keeps his kitchen hands
      while they wrap around her thighs
      slather soap into her crevices
depending on
      in which crevices they rest
      from which they move away
      at a healthy pace

does the loofah dance across her body
      like tulle escaping the bride’s gown
            to enjoin itself with the clouds
                 of adipose flesh
                       pushing out around her belly and chest?
does the loofah lather then rinse
      alternating appropriately
      saving labia for last with a final speedy pass
      followed by a lukewarm pour of water
      as lukewarm as the church in laodicea
      ready to be spit out by her memory
      immediately after she exits the bath
or does the loofah linger
      not at all precise
      so unlike the medical cabinets
      keeping each blanket
      the proper temperature
      to warm but never burn her

is his the touch of a kindly nurse
rubbing gently behind an old man’s ear
to increase his oxytocin
glad his member is no longer
so easily provoked
as to show the nurse
what it was in the man
he actually inspired

the girl in the tub is twenty-four
and her lover carries her body out the bathroom door
and onto a bed where it
she climbs on all fours
hanging purple fiberglass and foot
precisely over the edge
so as not to be smushed
as he carefully positions
himself between her legs
like a pointillist
balancing passion and precision
with each thrust

* * *

MONSTER

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The invalid
is a parasite
on society.
At a certain point
it is indecent
to go on living.

1.
They call her sirenia
                                   She imagines sea shells or long hair
                                    resting strategically over her breasts
They imagine shipwrecks

2.
abnormal shape
                                    as omen      portent      billboard     blackboard
advertizing awful deeds
                                    mončre   be warned    be instructed    be anyone
                                    but not her   not me

I     I     I
I can use it in a sentence.
I am a monster.
I want to suck your social welfare.

INDECENT
go on gawking
the animal cracker history permits it
        from the days of Colloredo
        Lazarus affirmed you     and Joannes told you nothing
        for your money
I can bare myself
can you tell me just
how long you’ll need
to look?

 

* "geriatric manual" was originally published in The Chaffey Review, a literary journal XII.

 

A native Michigander, Jessica Suzanne Stokes is currently displaced and studying poetry in Boston University's MFA program. She co-coordinates the Breakwater Reading Series, and she founded/hosts a monthly open mic night known as Open Floor.