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  • Carly Feinman

Day 39- 10.25.20


Miles in the middle of California

Something happens when you watch

a cloud’s shadow tracking along

the yellowed mountains

from the passenger seat. It starts as a pebble, as a feeling of smallness

followed by the physical sensation of place;

that sense that here and now

is, in times like these, touchable. Palpable.


And just when that thin grace

has washed, warm water-like, over you,

that’s the moment the stench arrives

through the car vents.


Have you smelled it?

That extraordinarily specific scent of

thousands upon thousands of cows,

fattened between fences and now,

smack in the middle of a Sunday afternoon,

herded away from the highway’s edge

to the slaughter.



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