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Lee Rossi lives in Los Angeles and is the author of the poetry collection Ghost Diary (Terrapin Press). Having never successfully learned a foreign language, he is leaving his programming job to join his five-year-old son Leo in a local Japanese-immersion kindergarten.
They’re all gone now, but when I was a kid, there were cows all around my house, even though we were only twelve miles from downtown. Half the kids I went to school with, their parents owned cows. Even my own parents, a dozen cows, penned in the field across the street, behind my dad’s saloon. Big brown cows with white faces and large, sad eyes — and long eyelashes, longer even than the ones my mom kept in her top dresser drawer.
August 1997Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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