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110 Asking for an Incomplete 1 Please, she says, now I am sitting in the courtroom to make my homework. I can only make it in handwriting while I am sitting in the courtroom to see if my husband will take my children. Please, I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad student. After ten p.m. at the shelter they say, no more reading, no more writing. Turn any writing to the court. Maybe, they say, I cannot finish this class. Please, I am not a bad mother. I must keep my children from him. 2 The holes where my eyes should be meet the holes where her eyes should be (Greek statues, pre-classical period, empty dark orbs where semiprecious stones once were set by hand) and we are not at my eighth floor office door but gripping each other’s arms in the courtyard as the men swarm over the wall 900 BCE, each with the face of my colleague in ST 806 who has been looking disgustedly at the woman crying, who watches my naked arm shielding her back, my free hand smoothing her flying hair. ...

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