Thursday, September 27, 2007


On the eraseboard she wrote blood, crossed it out, wrote tears, pushed her hand through it, wrote lachrymal ducks. She turned to her students. They were already bored by her, her dry hysterics, except for a tiny Nepalese girl. Ma'am, said the girl, rising from her seat, about to cry out or laugh, her labshirt breast stained Coomassie blue.

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