Jessica Stokes
7:52 A.M. IN FAIRBORN, OHIO
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
* * *
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
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?
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.
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