Girls have been created in the corset of religions Poem by Véronique Pittolo

Girls have been created in the corset of religions. As mothers they'll look back on threadbare sermons, scraped-back hair, fast-elongating legs.

The glint of crucifix has faded with the baby blanket, Jesus has deserted boarders' faces, the exaggerated dog's-dinner hairdos of all the girls whose tongues are hanging out, who sleep with open mouths. If good God registers this pulling out of shape, their puberty will make the rubber bands explode.

The cotton knickers will be thrown away, and with the other relics there will be less delicate destructions, the result of wars, of territorial occupations, of photos that didn't come out.

You only have to recognize yourself in those first communion shoes in the light of dawn, in the words of the priest's address.