Presents by JoAnna Novak And the next moment I was among them, though days had parted us—boxes piling nothing, boxes knocking my hips with angel ecchymosis, blue-black waiting to bloom: arms, calves, tomorrows smudged aquarelle with bruisery—and I swallowed the room, careening plus wine. How would I ever escape? Wah-wah, Lee said, Friend #1, when I spilled complaint in our fun. Slunk over couch, sloshing from cup, three brunettes again, together, holiday-fat feasting kin.

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