McCullough's long lane
snowbound
barn-bent foot holes striving
to link tractor with plough blade
road-banked family with hearth fire

McCullough's house rose
with the whitewashed landscape
we brushed February flakes from summer porch chairs
to watch the county hibernate

next concession
old Crawley leased out his land
for just enough to
swill his organs into surrender

blue powdered from his tin home
rubber rotted from its wheels
where dogs hid
beneath his bastard heat

the new elementary school stands
where Missus Quigley yellow bussed
five girls to distant classes
cows milked, chicks fed
Mr. Q. already in the field

lessons ribboned over virgin blue-lined sheets
they returned for evening grace
		forgive us please our daily bruises
as children from any school
raising arms to be excused

Quigley kisses strangers now
in Victoria hallways a half hour from her youngest
the pitch laid over Crawley's can
echoes shouts for the blue against the red
		the orange versus the green
and the streets paved on McCullough's farm differ like corn rows
even as his toe furrows Florida sands
each new house wall is painted with fresh hued memories

but I am lost