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A Brief History of Cowboys and Indians
My mother sits at the kitchen table leafing through an old issue of People. If this is dying, I don't think much of it. Staring out the window above the sink, I count eight deer grazing in the yard where I used to play cowboys and Indians with my brothers. How many Indians I slaughtered! How many! Trees begin to shake in a spectacular display of empathy. The name of a thing just barely disguises the nature of the thing itself. What’s been called my heart serves also as a wine glass, a highway, a urinal, a grave.
H o w i e G o o d
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