IN THE MIDDLE LANE, LEAVING NEW HAVEN
2012; Wiley; Volume: 100; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/tyr.2012.0044
ISSN1467-9736
Autores Tópico(s)Race, History, and American Society
Resumo1 0 0 Y I N T H E M I D D L E L A N E , L E AV I N G N E W H AV E N D O L O R E S H A Y D E N Dusk hovers behind the billboard, ‘‘We Want Your Scrap Gold,’’ behind the imported oil on the tank farm, the rusting metal on the export pier, the oversize flags on the auto dealer’s lot. Four out of five commuters drive alone. In the left lane, a black bus shrink-wrapped with characters for luck hurtles past me toward the casino. On the right, a white limo accelerates to a wedding. Side by side, we surge past the hill leveled for a mall. Who is the risk-taker looking for grace? A cell tower marks frolic talk as I exit toward narrow roads that wind and rise and fall. I steer into the shapes of time: River Street, Water Street curve with fishermen’s work, Leete’s Island Road weaves where farmers grew salt hay and the last of the light fades on bone-colored spartina. Who is the survivor mapping history? On Colonial Road, a developer has been clearing for new houses. Dispossessed, a doe and a buck 1 0 1 R wander onto the asphalt – Pay attention! Braking hard, headlights high, I hear an owl. I might as well be an owl, hooting at the ice, lecturing the winter. Snow coats the sand on the beach, snow drifts over the sea wall next to the Sound. On Cove Lane, my house resists the January wind, windows dark. My house is as cold as only a widow’s can be. On the porch: shovel, rock salt, firewood. ...
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