J A N U A R Y 1 9 7 3 ![]() HOLY DAYby Philip Levine | |||||||||||||
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Los Angeles hums a little tune -- trucks down the coast road for Monday Market packed with small faces blinking in the dark. My mother dreams by the open window. On the drainboard the gray roast humps untouched, the oven bangs its iron jaws, but it's over. Before her on the table set for so many her glass of fire goes out. The childish photographs, the letters and cards scatter at last. The dead burn alone toward dawn. Copyright © 1973 by Philip Levine. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; January 1973; Holy Day; Volume 231, No. 1; page 42. |
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