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28 Turtle Backing out of the driveway I feel a crunch (a fallen branch?) pull forward over a soft bump. Wedged behind a rear tire: some yellowish thing, thick, mottled like a giant butterfly. A turtle—crushed open— intestines glaring. I try to clear the tread, prod with shoe tip what’s stuck to bluestone. Fetch gloves and trowel. Dig a hasty hole. Lift the victim with a paper bag. Tremors cease. Quick-bury (hide) with earth with leaves. Trembling, I take the wheel. A car’s collateral damage. 29 In war, as here, it must be hard to see what you have done. And to bear it. ...

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