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Lucy Shawgo

Fall 1988

The Pruning

By Lucy Shawgo

Turning from the maple, Whose burst of yellow he’d sworn to thin, He watched his wife iron on the porch. The way her fingers worked the wrinkles Before she put […]

Fall 1988

Ordination

By Lucy Shawgo

With pride I can’t claim by rights I pointed out the other day The remarkable peach tree hanging heavy Near our ravine. My husband went sour around the mouth at […]

Fall 1986

The Answer

By Lucy Shawgo

Her smallness, even in shadow beside the grave,Fit not at all with what he’d said of her;And, afterward, I wondered whetherSome odd patina of love had glossed his mind. Some […]

Fall 1986

For Ingrid Bergman

By Lucy Shawgo

The day you died I thought of maples felledIn lonely woods—the crack and then the hushWhich quickly stills the air like words withheldIn disbelief. I caught, as well, the rushOf […]