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When we were children, we likened the sounds of mosquitoes to those of wailing women at funerals,
Women we knew.
We threw stones at cows to
Clear the way for gleaning our almonds, in the early morning, in the afternoon, and at sunset.
We compared the patterns of our shoemarks on the mud and cowshit.
Thursday resembled all days.
In dreams, we saw dipsomaniac babies eager to stand on their feet.
In the dining room, we pokerfaced our mother for whatever havoc we'd wreaked;
An equanimity we acquired in short time.
Probably from cows.