The grapes he foraged set my teeth on edge.I want to hack through their wild vines, dissectthis anger. It's a tangle: steep hill strungwith old foxgrapes among the hardwood, toughenough to swing from (proto-bungee rushthat's like a fit of rage, adrenalinalive inside me), or to strangle in.Vines choke.

-Elizabeth Hadaway

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