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Midnight's Child For Emma Midnight, a night of full moon; sulphur clouds, orange and yellow, swathe the dirty city of steel, from smelter smokestack strewn. The moon’s phosphorescent glow washes over a crowning head; harsh glints of light reveal forceps applying a painful turn to the head grasped in its spoon-like hollow; the child is pulled forth with relentless zeal. They hold her up, her bruised head unbowed, battered but not beaten; her eyes meet mine, no word is said, but I am, in that moment, love smitten. |
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