“
It Was Not Pygmalion And it was not Galatea. It was you and me. And unlike Galatea, I was not perfect. I had to grow. And you were no sculptor. You were more like a gardener. And if so, then I was more like a shrub. I was a beautiful, little shrub in a well-kept garden. I had tender green leaves, and was most obedient. I would stay very still and your eyes would shine down like twin suns, until one night you caught me at it. I had uprooted my roots and was prancing about. I thought you were sleeping. You watched in silence. At last you said, “A plant with feet is not natural.” But oh mother, let me assure you, the effort required was very painful. (From the sequence: ‘From Baby F With Much Love’)
”
”