Studies in Still-Life

By Lindsay Lusby


walnuts with their waxy ear-fruit

blackened egg of a tree
this tough yolk is all it will bear

some dried up, chewed up
birth spat back

then tipped from the nest



the cat brings home a baby robin
tucked in her teeth like sleep
feathers thin and gray as lint
and big orphan eyes
in an unfinished face

you are the loose end of the branch



it’s here things fall apart:

broken water on the kitchen floor
slick as egg-whites

then, reaching into the quick,
pulled out by the root

Lindsay Lusby graduated from Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland with a B.A. in English. Now, she works at her local public library and a nifty new bakery. In her spare time, she writes poetry on her typewriter, sews thingamajigs, drinks tea, dabbles in letterpress printing and bookbinding, browses through used bookstores, and naps with her cats (and sometimes with her dog). You can find more about her at

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