The Quarry. Dan Lechay

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The Quarry - Dan Lechay Hollis Summers Poetry Prize

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each June, on windshields and collected

      on people’s hats, nor the annual,

      almost welcome advent through

      our windows of box elder bugs—their bodies

      drifting beneath our beds; not cob-

      webs, dustmice, molds that made our houses

      and crabgrass-pimpled, mole-dug yards appear

      animal-friendly: but the fact we

      lived at the edge of town. A subtle

      dust rose from the furrowed fields,

      from loess deposits, seams of shale, twelve decades’

      leavings of cows and chickens, from worms’ turnings,

      to film our mirrors, alter even the taste of

      soup, and darken, if imperceptibly

      at first, the faces we took with us to school.

       Work

      That winter, every morning

      long before dawn, two lights shone

      in the house. A passerby

      (had anyone been passing

      at that hour, in that weather)

      might have thought something

      was wrong—maybe a child

      was sick? but no, it was only

      my mother (downstairs in

      the kitchen) and me (upstairs,

      just getting out of bed, putting

      on jeans and boots). When

      I got downstairs, my mother

      might still be cutting the half

      grapefruit I ate each morning—

      inserting the sharp, delicate

      knife between rind and

      flesh, peeling each segment

      so I could eat it with a spoon…. Into

      the night, then, after breakfast:

      the scarf and gloves she’d made

      me wear keeping me warm and dry,

      I’d walk three blocks to the lamp-

      lit corner where my bundle—

      stiff, snow-crusted—waited,

      slice the twine and stow the

      hundred papers in my sack. War

      in Egypt, hangings in Alabama—

      I walked my route, unconscious

      bearer of the world’s news.

       Singing Head

      This was the end of town.

      Beyond, the farms began—

      the frayed edge of the city

      beyond the White Front Diner

      and the Negroes’ trailer park,

      where cattails filled the ditches.

      Past Brenneman Seeds, past Braverman’s,

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