the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana » parents

Pupils’ pupils

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

It’s clean–like suburbia,
absent of dumpsters,
no scrubbing phone cords
or de-staining diskettes
like when she’s actually laying between the hotel cotton,
oh wait, we let the maids do that;
there’s sweat on the mouse
and saliva on the mouth to the hands to?

alone?
penetration turns to education, maybe artistry?
justifying pupils’ pupils in the camera;
what do thins lines draw?
locating the absent parents of a preteen wading in the hotel pool.

Family heirlooms

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

The kitchen chairs slowly turn to face the TV,
and the parents quit asking (even during commercials)
but want to know more then ever–
hoping to be a friend,
afraid to rebuke, terrified to be rebuked,
as if respect and obedience aren’t
parent and child:
family heirlooms in the hands of the childless.

Don’t stop breathing

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Don’t stop dancing–
falling down stairs
in a one story ranch house.
Don’t stop breathing child–
the violent blue will return
to skin, violently healing.
Broken is the mind and swollen
the fingers around a rock
fighting for focus away
from a mind, four times as old.
Cold are the roads away from any Father
that chases.