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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-01-04 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
The pink lay dormant in a belly
It may as well have been for an eternity For all it cared, Aging without becoming was hardly a problem If not a privilege per se But when it did come out, months later It became she And she become her, As did the black curls she just loved too see In the gigantic oblong mirror That hanged on her tall, snow-white wall. Her mother gave her a peculiar name And dyed her hair red… The problem was, She could not recognize her after that So she began to search for her all over Becoming tragically aware of prepositions, Testing each, Wondering which would turn out the winner: Behind, beneath Up On, under In, out? Her money was on in Although the in she knew Was her bare misconception, e.g.: In her room In the phonebook In the papers In the limelights In blood stains on some highway Or another… No wonder she never found her. And all this time the little one Was lying pliant on the dinning sofa Right beside her, All covered in fake hair Dressing herself in a big pretty ribbon So she could fly herself off To some man’s birthday party.
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