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Michele Harman - Los Angeles, CA (USA):
April 03, 2001:
This book shows a three-dimensional girl perched
on a rose petal; she, embryo small.
This book's title came to him from Shakespeare
and mostly what comes to me are the tiny
over a hand's grip. And, oh, the fur wrap.
This book scared me into poetry.
This book taught me that it's okay for a plate to be
a plane, a doll to be a flower, a
be a bed.
This book taught me that my fetus girl, bumping around
so near to all my organs just now will
soon look to me
to mirror her emotions accurately and repeatedly; this book
may have frightened me if I will ever fail. Of course, I
and everyone does: some, sometimes; some efficiently and repeatedly.
This book looms under fluorescent lights and is full of
the smallest details and rules; this book determines the
and breadth and width of a full education, of
that mobile acquisition
which one can hold in his hands, place after
her name, print onto a card, lie out
on a table in exchange for work, and later,
This book claims to know what every English word means.
This book is an inspiration that has grown golden
columns, the gilding a far cry from its own
black-and-white columned view of the earth. From the humblest
to woman, to man and to that which is,
really, beyond both.
In this book, the author becomes statuary and the snow
her tears; in this book, the author
claims that, from childhood, she has always been afraid
In this book, the glorious animal stopped stock still which I
read to our unborn child night after night that
might associate its perfect music with the sound of