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Dust You Are
Someday I, too, will be transfigured, my righteous wings billowing behind me, the symbol of my mortality and willingness to suffer offered up on a platter like a Thanksgiving fowl. These days, though, I’m exhausted.
Someday I, too, will be transfigured, my righteous wings billowing behind me, the symbol of my mortality and willingness to suffer offered up on a platter like a Thanksgiving fowl. These days, though, I’m exhausted.