QUOTE : I stared at the bones with sand in my throat. I had never seen a dead crow, had never been faced with a mirror of my foundations. Is this what went on underneath my skin? These brittle slivers of pearly white? The tiny skull with boned beak? Are these really the roots of us, just an insignificant collection of sprig-like connectors, a rib cage no bigger than a MoFo palm? Is this little nest, this smattering of splintery white twigs, what makes a crow? What makes me?