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70 A Face to Meet the Faces Arachne Aimee Nezhukumatathil The sweetest medium is water. I envy the frog; her mate holds her firm in a wet embrace, then the release—an egg froth on her back and good-bye. I cannot imagine a hunger filled, a calm stretch of nerve. My legs won’t even break the surface to let me dip my body in. Perhaps a breeze, perhaps a dew will come to envelop me. In the branches of this gum tree, I sigh. This air is no good. Who knows what god I will inhale. ...

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