Three of us, tickling and wrestling, and laughing past when I One gives up or the referee says to go back to our cornersīecause a round is over. To three: then we meet in the middle and tickle and tickle until We crouch there until the referee, father always, counts Knows no loss or pain: he is delicate and happy and intenselyīeautiful, radiance and delight. In his face yet, not fear, not malice, not anger, not sorrow: he
He is golden, a white boy with yellow hairĪnd blue eyes: and happy. Unscalable, and the sofa is immense, enough width and depth Nothing in it is very big but weĪre small and so the ceilings are high and the walls tower, The sofa is against a wall in the living room. The sofa is deep and not too long, three cushions, the same green. Painted with a wide brush to highlight the edges and borders The sofa is green with huge flowers imprinted on it, pinkĪnd beige and streaks of yellow or brown, like they were Pages 52-56 first appeared, translated into French, in La Vieįilmset in Great Britain in II on 12 pt Sabon The new w om ans broken heart: short storiesīritish Library Cataloguing in Publication Data O ur Blood: Prophecies and D iscourses on Sexual Politics
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