Detective Work CAUTION
219 by Emily Dickinson She sweeps with many-colored Brooms— And leaves the Shreds behind— Oh Housewife in the Evening West— Come back, and dust the Pond! You dropped a Purple Raveling in— You dropped an Amber thread— And now you’ve littered all the East With Duds of Emerald! And still, she plies her spotted Brooms, And still the Aprons fly, Till Brooms fade softly into stars, And then I come away—
selection from To By John Steinbeck
a God Unknown
“Every night I kill some little thing, a bird, a rabbit or a squirrel. Yes, every night some creature. Now, it’s nearly time.” The sun’s edge touched the fog. The sun changed its shape; it was an arrowhead, an hourglass, a top. The sea turned red, and the wave-tops became long blades of crimson light. The old man turned quickly to the table. “Now!” he said and cut the pig’s throat. The red light bathed the mountains and the house. “Don’t cry, little brother.” He held down the struggling body. “Don’t cry. If I have done it right, you will be dead when the sun is dead.” The struggling grew weaker. The sun was a flat cap of light on the fog wall, and then it disappeared, and the pig was dead.