i thought i grew up in town of cows 

my neighbors were cows
& they went out to graze early.
despite my efforts i could never wake up
before them. i would go out to the yard
first thing just to find their whole families 
chewing grass & buttercups. their tails
swung like pendulums. their huge wide eyes
saw everything. i was convinced they could gleam
the past & the future. they remained stoic
& for a long time i believed my neighbors 
didn't like me. i brought them morsels 
as peace offers: the ends of green beans 
& wheat crackers but they refused 
to eat from my hand. it probably has something
to do with pride. cows are proud animals.
no one believes me that i grew up
in a town of cows because i live in a city
full of humans & pigeons & the occasional 
rabbit or squirrel. i introduce myself 
by describing the cows. i explain that they
have four stomachs for digesting grass & that
they are not the best at tending their gardens.
in my town, cows made quilts & hung them
on their living rooms walls. in my town
a cow sold apples at the farmer's market
& another cow scooped ice cream at 
the malt shoppe. yes it was strange 
growing up there with my human body
& my human skin but no one ever seemed 
to notice & i simply didn't point it out.
i assumed until i was older
that i just was a cow like anyone else.
i got down on my knees & chewed grass.
i crave that greenness even now where 
the grass if riddled with garbage.
me & the neighbor kids trotted through our yard
mouths full of onion grass & weeds.
there was something delicious 
about realizing nothing & believing 
the whole world was the same.
the neighbors rolled their grill outside 
each may & brought it in early october.
the neighbors sang songs near bedtime
to help their young children sleep
& i was jealous of them. where i live now
there are no cows & i search for them sometimes,
hoping a figure approaching in the dark
will turn out to be one. they're always human.
i even returned to my town to find
all the cows gone & human neighbors 
in their place. when no one is home
i get down on all fours,
pretending to be one, mourning their 
patience their vast bodies.
no one knows how much i miss them.