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	<title>the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana &#187; abortion</title>
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	<description>the poetry of stephen m. james</description>
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		<title>My tiny body (D&amp;E)</title>
		<link>https://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/my-tiny-body-de/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 09 Jun 2008 00:26:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[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[I&#8217;ll never be half a football field of nerves, just a cell for a season&#8217;s-&#8221;“in a cell, a miniature galaxyÂ pregnant with possibility, an alien with big black eyes watching for the vacuum,Â of space taking is notÂ my home. I, being of sound mind and not much say, leave my few feeble cells to my mother: my [&#8230;]]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I&#8217;ll never be half a football field of nerves,<br />
just a cell for a season&#8217;s-&#8221;“in a cell,<br />
a miniature galaxyÂ pregnant with possibility,<br />
an alien with big black eyes watching<br />
for the vacuum,Â of space taking is notÂ my home.<br />
I, being of sound mind and not much say, leave my few feeble cells to<br />
my mother: my last testament toÂ fight off disease for decades.</p>
<p>Flushed at this funeral, a little red-faced and now wasted:<br />
somatic septic cells in fetal position rowing, thenÂ wading through fecal<br />
mix in matters (too private to halt) with dioxins to incinerate lungsÂ of pets and<br />
pets that are childrenÂ and yes, even, children, butÂ <em>that</em> wouldn&#8217;t be green.<br />
Pieces: umbilical, ambivalent, paraxial, personal, particles,<br />
a gorey inconvenient truth, a choice warming in an all too earthen oven,<br />
too full for responsibility to try &#8216;n muster the strength to alter a sound to see<br />
<em>my tiny body.</em></p>
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