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  • One sister-friend, and then another, are at my doorstep. We cut fruit. We slice tomatoes and feta cheese. We rip basil leaves, drizzle balsamic, tear bread. We mix a pitcher of cocktails we'll never be able to recreate. Bikini parts are pulled from the bottom of a drawer, other breasts happily filling the cups that I bought for breasts I used to I have.

    We are listening ears and kind reproach, we are long-lounging bodies, we are freckles and graying hairs, we are laughter. We are laughter. All day, there is our laughter.

    We are summer girls. Today, with the sky all around us, we are young. We are browning kindly, getting wiser, and wishing this afternoon would never end.
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