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Essay

  • Elegy for the Wound that Blooms

    By Sophia Jiang, Art Editor I carry a shovel in the trunk of my car for the anonymous artists that lie on the roads – bunnies, squirrels, raccoons – creatures often dismissed, swerved around, or mutilated with cadmium red hues. Despite the cars angrily honking their annoyances at me, I stop to gently move their…