In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Wisteria Circumspect woman, you carry your memories tied up in a lip-stick-stained kerchief in a worn straw basket. When you undo the knot, the scent of wisteria, thick with the nausea of nostalgia fills the closed-in room. You lean into the microphone, smile at the turning tape, while fingering the fading petals. You intone your history, breathing in the muggy scent of wayward love. Your anger is always a whisper, enigmatic, almost unspoken, just a steady heat. I don’t like ’em never did,never could ... ...


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