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Lisa Lewis

Spring 2010

Days Beginning to Lengthen

By Lisa Lewis

The blackberry brambles droop under the demands of winter. Like seamstresses sweeping the floor for a dropped needle, they will not look up until the business is done. The harrier […]

Spring 1988

Pastoral

By Lisa Lewis

Today I love them for their elegance, Thoughtlessness, arched planes Of the head. I love to watch them At pasture under October clouds Crawling the slopes with shadow, And the […]

Spring 1988

Measure of Control

By Lisa Lewis

Betty opens a riding stable, at first just a few Kids, fifteen bucks a head, walk, trot, nothing Faster from the twenty-year-old blind or bone- Spavined stockyard nags shuffling a […]

Spring 1988

Election Day’s Eve

By Lisa Lewis

Flat on my back In grass that didn’t have much cushion, Above me a big wild cherry tree that made All the birds splatter my mother’s car with magenta Edged […]

Spring 1985

Bottles

By Lisa Lewis

Then, in May, the Virginia sun gets close again, And finds the redbud within reach. A single blossom is not enough to satisfy The sun’s imperious egg-yolk eye. The redbud […]

Spring 1985

Oats

By Lisa Lewis

Yellow feathers from a distance, those stems Bear many heads, each with its slender shell. A maple empties itself of sparrows To retrieve the dust in single grains. Such foraging […]