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Show CHRYSALIS PAGE 103 -10- A line of poetry runs through my head. Fearing to lose it if I do not write it immediately, I try desperately to find a pencil and paper. There are none to be found. I finally find two stubs, and neither of them has a point. At last, a ballpoint pen! It is dry. I make do with an orange crayon on the back of a gas bill, writing: A_ darkness in the weather of the eye.. A nice line. Is it mine, or somebody else's? I hope it is mine. Who knows? I am becomming more noticable pregnant. I look like the Venus of Willendorf, or one of the fat Mesopotamian fertility goddesses. Mother Earth. The baby now has hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and weighs about two pounds. I've heard his heart |