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	<title>the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana &#187; mother</title>
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	<description>the poetry of stephen m. james</description>
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		<title>Dilation and extraction</title>
		<link>http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/dilation-and-extraction/</link>
		<comments>http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/dilation-and-extraction/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 09 Jun 2008 00:26:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Stephen M. James</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Post College]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[abortion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[birth]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dilation and extraction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[medical waste]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[miracle_of_life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pregnant]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[(or I’ll never be half a football field of nerves)
A cell for a sitcom&#8217;s length,
in a cell, a miniature galaxy
pregnant with possibility,
alien with big black eyes waiting . . .
for the vacuum, of space is not
my home, I leave my feeble cells to
my mom in my will to
fight off disease for decades.
Flush at my own [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><em>(or I’ll never be half a football field of nerves)</em></p>
<p>A cell for a sitcom&#8217;s length,<br />
in a cell, a miniature galaxy<br />
pregnant with possibility,<br />
alien with big black eyes waiting . . .<br />
for the vacuum, of space is not<br />
my home, I leave my feeble cells to<br />
my mom in my will to<br />
fight off disease for decades.</p>
<p>Flush at my own funeral, medical waste:<br />
somatic septic sewer cells of<br />
fetus mixing with fecal matter, or<br />
dioxins in the air incinerating lungs<br />
of pets and actual children&#8211;<em>that</em> wouldn’t be Green-<br />
Pieces: umbilical, ambivalent, paraxial, personal.<br />
A Gorey Inconvenient Truth and Choice: about warming in an oven<br />
already too full for responsibility to try, try,<br />
-mester the strength to ultra a sound<em>. . .<br />
</em></p>
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		<item>
		<title>June Widow (after Saving Private Ryan)</title>
		<link>http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/june-widow-after-saving-private-ryan/</link>
		<comments>http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/june-widow-after-saving-private-ryan/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Stephen M. James</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[College]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cafes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cannons]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[coffee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[flowers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[france]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[french_countryside]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[movie]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[nostalgia]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[roses]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[rubble]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[soldier]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[teacher]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[war]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[wife]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[If I pick her, she will be torn,
beautiful flowers, back over the pond, in a vase,
the French countryside&#8211;I&#8217;ve seen her wear it on Sundays,
the place we met&#8211;the demolished cafes&#8211;sans the coffee;
we share memory of mothers with the crash of cannons,
beyond the river where red was roses and Revlon
and knee cuts on the playground,
we left our [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>If I pick her, she will be torn,<br />
beautiful flowers, back over the pond, in a vase,<br />
the French countryside&#8211;I&#8217;ve seen her wear it on Sundays,<br />
the place we met&#8211;the demolished cafes&#8211;sans the coffee;<br />
we share memory of mothers with the crash of cannons,<br />
beyond the river where red was roses and Revlon<br />
and knee cuts on the playground,<br />
we left our school-teaching-selves:<br />
like the rubble above our brothers<br />
that collapsed our bridge home.</p>
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