a new essay, “Sibling Revelry,” up at animal: a beast of a literary magazine!
by Sarah Cedeño
“It’s a dead bird!” I call to my sister, Micheil.
Its bones and feathers are flattened here, exactly how a bird looks, but like it’s been hidden between the pages of a dictionary for a week.
Micheil brings a neon, size-12 kid’s shoebox, mine.
My brothers, in aftershave, mullets, and pimples, come down the hill in our yard, one carrying a shovel.
I am six, and the youngest, kneeling by the bird—the first dead thing larger than a potato bug I’ve seen up close. It’s the closest I’ve been to any bird. Usually, seeing a bird’s wings flap hard against the air made it seem as though I was chasing them.
A dashed line of one-hundred-year old maples border the chain-link fence around us.
My brother Darrin digs the hole. Our dog, Coty, drags her chain through the chalky dirt after a squirrel, but leashed to her doghouse, she…
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