(by Wendy Patrice Williams) Coming Home To My Body Prologue Giraffes surrounded me on the wall, those long necks. Covered by plastic, they were cold when I touched them. The smell of alcohol reminded me of the nurse who would dab my arm with a wet cotton ball and prick me with a needle. Dr. Constad’s voice was warm gravel. “Look at you,” he said, squatting so his eyes were at equal height with mine. “You are a miracle.”...
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