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That winter

August 29, 2006

That winter the cows would surround us
In the darkness, feeling like omens
Against our fearful skins, fat tongues unrolling
To taste us, fermented straw-mist on their breaths
And ours, them coming through the thick mists
On our hillside, us across fields returning
To the cottage from drowning our terror.
Sometimes on no-moon nights the jigsaws
Of their hides appeared so quietly from the dark
There was almost no time to scream and scream
As they bumped and pushed us from their peace.
Now they are long dead. Still their generations
Do the same. Their children know us, harry us.

by mikey

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  1. August 29, 2006 at 10:38 pm

    Great poem. Thank you. “Their children know us, harry us.” They sure as hell do :-)

  2. August 30, 2006 at 7:42 am

    Mikey, this poem is continues to haunt me as I travel the rural roads and see the cows on the hillsides. I’ll never forget the unexpected rush of fear, one moonless night on a mountain top, years ago, when I stumbled into a herd of cows in the pitch darkness. You’ve turned that experience into something larger and more symbolic. Thanks.

  3. MB
    August 30, 2006 at 11:16 am

    This brings back vivid childhood memories of the frightening sights and sounds of cows suddenly appearing as large dark shapes in the foggy night, just outside my bedroom window.

  4. September 1, 2006 at 10:03 pm

    The domesticated with the memory of wild ferocity. Oh.

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