jacob moscovitch

The tall corn rustled in the wind and a distant dog wept an endless cry. I left California, where I was born and raised, at 18. My identity dives deeper in my new home. Missouri leaned into me, now I must lean back. Even when I'm away, I can still feel the heavy air misted on my skin. The roads stretch forever in Missouri: the “show-me” state. So, drive.

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