MARISOL. (In her sleep.) Am I pregnant with the Lord's baby?! Is the new Messiah swimming in my electrified Womb? Is the supersperm of God growing a mythic flower deep in the secret greenhouse inside me? Will my morning sickness taste like communion wine? This is amazing — billions of women on earth, and I get knocked up by God!
ANGEL. No baby, no baby, no baby, no baby — No, Baby.
Text excerpt from “Marisol” by Jose Rivera, 1992
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