outside my pennsylvania preschool
my mother lifted me above the fence
so that my tiny white fingers could
tickle the tiny white hairs of the
cow's pink nose.
I watched its glossy black eyes
lazily unveiling themselves from
behind a curtain of thick lashes.
warm and solid, and not so different
from the nuns who ran the school,
both dressed in ash and bone,
noses blushes in the wintry morning air
tall and indifferent, and far too
for a four year old like myself
grasping to feel.
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