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Reading Emily Dickinson with Job

October 13th, 2020 | 9 min read

By Laura Cerbus

A few months ago, a Mynah hatchling fell out of its nest in one of our carport rafters. When we found it, it was lying awkwardly on the ground, clearly hurt beyond our capacity to heal. Nonetheless, my kids insisted that we try our best: a makeshift bed, placed out of the elements and away from the neighbor’s cat, and a prayer.

Later that afternoon we buried it in the backyard, in the soft ground near the fence. My oldest shed furtive tears, and my youngest asked the typical toddler question, “Why?”

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