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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4021 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Vegetative M. Kathryn Black I hold a man-child in my arms. His skin smells sweet; his hair is soft. Beneath his scalp his skull won't meet; there's a chasm larger than an infant's. Neither does he speak but sit and rock upon the floor when people enter. My mentor nods and smiles, and I protest: Surely you can't mean that he's to be my mate? I try to kiss his mouth, but it's all wet; he doesn't know I'm there despite my tenderness. He knows, for he has a human heart. Looking up I say,Then let him be my child; as a child he can be loved. |
