In the wake of this continuing failure, Vassar's protectors have become frustrated and suspicious, trapped in a bureaucratic deadlock of decisions awaiting decisions awaiting decisions. Waiting amid this flurry of fragmented activity, in a circle of quiet that must surely bear little resemblance to the meditative clarity she has sought through almost 40 years of writing, Vassar Miller is, as she has been for three years now, physically unable to compose poetry. As witness to the turmoil raging around her and on her behalf, she almost certainly carries inside her a poem that, in a mere dozen lines, could cut through the bureaucracy and accusations and well-intended maneuverings to shed a crystalline light on the "best interest" that has so far proved elusive to her most ardent protectors.
If only she could write it.
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