by Mary Clark Venetian blind poses, Venetian blind blues. A life grew smaller behind them, trying to see through, engulfed in a large leather chair, made of men, I waded into his ice-sea blue eyes. What are we going to do with you? he asked. Throw me back. My father, who art in this world, outside this school beyond my understanding, I am a girl-child waiting to be born.

Copyright by Mary Clark 1975 Published in LIPS, Laura Boss, publisher, 1984

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