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Gettysburg Review
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Essays

Winter 2001 Edition Selections

“Scallions”

by Michael Borich

I’m kneeling to the snap beans and snow peas and early
   Girls whose pale breasts swell behind their foliage,
And I bless the firm stalks and flowering roots, and I

Curse the eyeless borers and nits and leaf rot and airborne
   Plagues and moles, those tunneling, underground rats . . .


“He Takes Me to See the Oldest Tree”

by Lynne McMahon

            in Missouri, a burr oak, the oxidized plaque
faintly states, which so dominates the landscape
                        he calls it Wordsworth . . .


“Hope”

by John Leary

Wilson and Edie’s baby arrived one sunny morning in June. It kicked the front door with its foot, as the doorbell was beyond a baby’s reach. “Hi,” Wilson said. “You must be our new baby.”
    The baby held two small suitcases. “Can you give me a hand with these?” it said. “They must weigh a ton.”


“My Father’s Bowling Trophies”

by Ray Hedin

My father’s bowling trophies sit on a shelf in my garage, undusted, splayed in all directions, next to bottles of Miracle-Gro and Weed-B-Gon. They sketch out a good deal of my father’s suburban, parish-league bowling career: Hi Series, Kuples Klub, 1953–54, G. Hedin, 648; Kuples Klub, 1968–69, High Game (unspecified); Kuples Klub, 1st Place, 1980–81, G. Hedin, League Champion, St. Petronille, 1981–82; League Champion (plaque missing).

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